Burn After Reading
by Swing Girl At Heart
Summary: SEQUEL TO ONE IN FOUR. When Kurt abruptly reappears after nearly ten years, his life and the lives of his family are rocked to the foundations. What follows is a struggle for hope, love, and - most importantly - healing.
1. On A Clear Day

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to my fic _One In Four_, and though _One In Four_ is easily a stand-alone story, this fic cannot be understood without having read _One In Four_. For those of you who have read _One In Four_, thank you so much! As you are most likely aware if you followed _One In Four _while it was being written, there will be several dark themes dealt with in this story, so this is a trigger warning for that as this fic will be revisiting many of the traumas of Kurt's past.**

_..  
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_On A Clear Day_

_.._

The first thing Kurt could feel was oxygen slowly passing through his lungs, sitting heavily in his chest like water, and the nerve endings in his fingertips gradually began to prickle. He felt like he'd been asleep for days, and he didn't want to wake up just yet because he was so comfortable where he was… He was sitting up with his head tilted back against a cushion, so he had to be on a couch. He didn't want to open his eyes, but he could see faint light shining through the lids. He lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes with his still-half-numb fingers, yawning.

He let out a long breath, then realized with a start that there was something heavy sitting on his lap. He forced his eyes to snap open, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the light, and he raised his head.

His heart skipped. The something was actually a some_one_ – a very young boy, sitting comfortably on his lap and staring at the TV against the wall, which was playing _Tom &amp; Jerry_ with the volume turned all the way down.

There was a child sitting on his lap.

An _unfamiliar_ child.

Oh, God.

Kurt's heart skipped in his chest like it was jumping hurdles, and as soon as the realization that one of his alters must have kidnapped some poor kid off the street hit him, he jolted to his feet. Unfortunately, he wasn't thinking very clearly and he accidentally knocked the little boy to the ground, who then immediately began to loudly bawl. Kurt froze, unsure of what to do. How was he supposed to treat his own kidnapping victim?

Just then, a man burst in from the doorway to Kurt's left and rushed over to scoop the boy into his arms. "What the hell, Andy?" he snapped, rubbing the child's back and checking over his limbs for bruises. "How do you drop a three-year-old?"

Kurt stared at him, every cell in his body screaming that something is _deeply, deeply wrong_.

It was Finn.

Except, it couldn't be, because the Finn that Kurt knew didn't have the stubble on his cheeks, or the barely-noticeable lines etched into his brow and the skin around his eyes.

"You okay, bud?" Finn said, hefting the little boy on his hip.

The boy sniffed and wrapped his arms around Finn's neck, and Kurt wanted to vomit, although he didn't know why.

Finn finally turned his attention back to him. "Dude, why are you staring at me like that?"

Kurt opened his mouth, but it didn't feel like his tongue was working the way it should. "I— I—" he stammered. "Wh-what's going on?"

Finn frowned, his hands tightening protectively around the child in his arms like he was subconsciously backing away. Like he was unsure of what Kurt would do. "You all right, man?" he asked, almost suspiciously.

"Why is there a kid here?" Kurt demanded, growing more and more desperate by the second. It felt like he couldn't breathe, and his lungs were rapidly shrinking behind his ribs.

Finn looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"

"_Just tell me what's going on!_" Kurt cried, the words snapping out of his mouth like breaking bones.

Finn flinched, and something else crossed his face, a strange sort of shadow that Kurt couldn't figure out. "Hannah!" Finn abruptly shouted, making Kurt jump. Finn turned back towards the door. "Hannah, get down here!"

There was a cascade of footfalls that tumble down from upstairs, and a redheaded woman appeared behind Finn. "What's wrong?"

Finn unwound the boy's arms from his neck and handed him over. "Take Dylan upstairs," he said, and there was an urgent tone in his voice that set the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck upright.

"What's—"

"Just give us a minute."

The woman looked over to Kurt with wide eyes, as if she knew what Finn was about to do, then closed her mouth and carried the little boy out of the room.

Finn turned his attention back to Kurt. "What do you remember?" he asked, his voice hard. His face was unreadable, and that was terrifying.

Kurt swallowed, his mouth dry and his throat feeling coated with sand. "Uh…" he said, the syllable trembling in its uncertainty. "I-I think…" He trailed off, his heart knocking against his ribs as he tried to sort through the fog clouding the back of his head. Blurred, fragmented and hazy memories cascaded across his mind, but none of them were recent enough. He shook his head, feeling like there were snakes twisting and turning in his gut. "I-I don't know."

Finn let out a long breath, his head hanging for a moment. He twisted a ring around his finger. (Why was he wearing a ring?)

Kurt wanted to scream, and he didn't know why. A rock pressed against the walls of his throat as he asked, "Finn, what… what's the date?"

"It's January third," Finn said quietly, not quite meeting Kurt's eye.

January. He'd just missed New Year's.

Kurt swallowed around the rock in his throat, wincing. He was pretty sure he remembered it being July last. Or maybe August. _God_, had he been gone nearly five months?

Kurt's brain was so frantically trying to sort out where he was in time that he jumped when Finn suddenly reached forward and engulfed him in a hug, holding so tightly that Kurt could barely breathe. Kurt froze, unsure of what to do.

And that's when he saw it over Finn's shoulder, hung on the far wall of the living room. A family-made calendar with a photograph of Finn, the redheaded woman, and the little boy – all smiling for the camera as they stood in the shallow end of a swimming pool. The little boy was wearing floaties on his arms and riding on Finn's back, and below the photo was a banner reading _HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM THE MACKEY-HUDSON FAMILY!_

And below that, the year.

Kurt stopped breathing, his skin running cold so quickly that he felt like he'd been electrocuted. "That – that's not real," he shook his head, yanking himself out of Finn's hold. "Finn, tell me that's not real."

"…Kurt," Finn said. Why did Kurt's name sound so heavy, like Finn hadn't said it in ages?

"Finn, please—"

Finn's face was pinched, like he was trying so hard to speak but had no idea what to say. "It's okay," he forced out, and it sounded like the biggest lie Kurt had ever heard.

* * *

Burt shivered in the driver's seat of his truck, blowing into his hands to warm them up as he waited for Carole to come out of the hospital. He kept meaning to get the heater fixed, but that particular chore regularly found itself amidst the thousand minor tasks that always ended up on his to-do lists but never _quite_ got done. Running the tire shop was a full-time job and required an irritating amount of micromanaging, but one of the benefits of being the boss was that he could take off early to go pick up his wife from work.

The hospital's automatic doors slid open and Carole, bundled up in her winter pea coat, blue scarf and green gloves, strode toward him. She opened the door and slung her shoulder bag onto the floor by her feet as she sat in the passenger seat.

"Hi, sweetie," Burt said, leaning over to give her a quick peck on the mouth. "How was your shift?"

"Well, I had to remove about six dollars in loose change from a kid's stomach today, which was fun," she replied brightly as he pulled the truck away from the hospital entrance.

"Sounds expensive."

Carole chuckled. "Ray doesn't mind you taking time off to pick me up?"

"He doesn't if he wants his paycheck," Burt grinned. "Besides, we've got a date tonight, and you're going to spend a ridiculous amount of time deciding what top to wear even though you _know_ you look hot in every one of them, so I'm getting you home early."

Carole reached over and playfully shoved his shoulder. "Well, at least Andy said he'd be fine making dinner for everyone else. He's got something good planned, I'm sure."

"You sure you want to go on our date tonight, Car?" Burt had to ask. "I mean, you're always saying we don't see the kids enough."

"Finn and Hannah don't have to get back to work for another week, Burt," Carole said. "We have plenty of time. Unless, of course, this is a thinly veiled way of asking me if we can postpone because _you_ want to stay home and play with your grandson."

Burt feigned a look of shock. "_What_— That is a serious accusation! I'd never pick a night of watching Sesame Street over you!"

Carole giggled. "Come on, watch the road," she said. "I promise I won't take too long to get dressed."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," Burt countered. He turned the truck off the main road, driving down their snowy street. The plows had been through early that morning, but snowflakes were just beginning to come down again in time for sunset, dotting the pavement ahead.

He parked in front of the house, not bothering to pull into the driveway since he and Carole would be leaving again for dinner soon. They climbed out of the truck, Burt swinging his keys in a circle around his index finger as they walked up the little stone path to the house. Burt made a mental note to thank Finn for shoveling it.

Inside, Burt hung his coat on the rack by the door and stepped into the kitchen, where he found Finn, Kurt, and Hannah all at the counter island. "Hey, guys," he said, reaching for the fridge to grab a beer.

"Where's Dylan?" asked Carole, unwinding her scarf from her neck.

"I put him down for his nap," answered Hannah.

Burt glanced at the clock, reaching into the fridge for a cold beer. "Kinda late for a nap, isn't it?"

"Burt," Finn said, and for the first time Burt noticed the expression on his face. The muscles in Finn's forehead and cheeks were tight, as if the pressure in the room was making it difficult to breathe. Burt glanced at Hannah in confusion; she was worrying at her lower lip and looking just as nervous. He placed his beer on the counter.

"What's going on?" Carole asked.

Finn looked to Kurt.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

Burt's heart stopped. It was the first time Kurt had called him that in ten years.

If he had still been holding his beer, Burt would have dropped it.

"You…" Burt started, but his voice faltered. His mouth had gone dry. "Y-You're back?"

There was a glassy film over Kurt's eyes, something so familiar and so unbelievably strange all at once. Burt's lungs felt starved for oxygen – he managed to drag a heavy breath into his throat, the air burning his insides.

"I-I think so," replied Kurt. It was _his _voice. Not Andy's. Not Eleanor's or Robbie's or Tyler's. _Kurt's_.

Burt's sinuses were abruptly tight, as if he was trying to breathe underwater. "Nine years, eight months," he choked out. "Nine years and eight _months_. You've been gone. You – you _disappeared_. You just didn't come back." The words were escaping him faster than Burt could think them through, and his blood was boiling from his sternum all the way to his fingertips. "You just – just stopped coming back."

Kurt's face contorted in something akin to grief. His eyes were threatening to spill over. "Dad, I—"

"Why didn't you come back?!"

Kurt lurched off his stool, crossing the short distance between them and wrapping his arms around Burt's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so _sorry_," Kurt was repeating over and over again, and Burt could feel Kurt's entire frame shaking (or was it his own?).

But Kurt was _back_. He was _here_ and he was looking Burt in the eye and talking to him like a _son_.

The air rushed from Burt's lungs, and he did the only thing that made sense – he hugged Kurt back and held him as tightly as he could. His son was finally _home_, and any questions as to what that could mean or what it entailed could wait for all Burt cared.

* * *

None of this made any sense to Finn. For nearly the last decade, his family had somehow maintained a semblance of stability without completely falling apart. The years prior to Andy's appearance had been fraught with stress and fear and especially uncertainty. Even during the months when Kurt had seemed to be doing better and making progress in therapy, they still had never known when the alters would show up again. Kurt's illness had always been lurking just out of sight, following him everywhere like some kind of malevolent shadow. And then, as Andy gradually took over, the shadow was slowly pushed away and locked up tight where it didn't feel like it was constantly about to pounce. They had adjusted. They adapted for Kurt, like they always had, and they had gotten used to a certain amount of peace – the kind of peace they had never felt safe enough to trust before.

Finn wasn't sure what had prompted Kurt to spontaneously come back after so long, but he was mostly worried about what it could mean for the rest of them. Whether his priorities made him a bad person or not, he couldn't tell, but now he had a wife and a child to take care of before Kurt. Finn remembered all too well the days when his home felt like hell, with Kurt caught in the throes of a transition and Burt unable to do anything to help. Even through the days when Kurt was himself, the anxiety of the entire situation had weighed on them all, and Finn knew just how destructive that anxiety could be.

Carole had called the restaurant to cancel the reservation for her and Burt's date, and they had all stayed up late in the kitchen, the five of them crowded around the kitchen island. Coffee and tea had been brewed, and brewed again. Hannah made grilled cheeses, which Finn only picked at. For hours, the conversation mostly consisted of Burt asking repetitive questions about what Kurt could remember, although Finn honestly had no idea where Burt expected to get with that line of questioning. Hannah eventually yawned and went to bed, giving Finn a quick kiss and telling him not to stay up too late.

Finn didn't miss the look on Kurt's face when he saw the kiss, and he shifted his weight awkwardly to his other foot.

"I can't believe you're married," Kurt said, his tone somewhere between sadness and awe.

"You were at the wedding," said Burt gently.

"Really?" Kurt seemed genuinely surprised.

"You were my best man," Finn added.

Kurt chewed on his lip, swallowing. "I wasn't… I don't know, I didn't freak anyone out?"

Burt leaned forward slightly, his elbows braced on top of the counter island. "Kurt, you haven't had any serious transitions in years."

Kurt's eyes widened, and his gaze jumped back to Finn, looking for some kind of confirmation that Burt was telling the truth.

Finn nodded, leaning back against the counter by the sink. "You haven't really been switching a lot since I was in college."

"Y-You're kidding," Kurt stammered.

"Kurt, the last time you transitioned was in March," Carole said, warming her hands around her mug of tea. "And before that… I don't even remember. August, I think?"

"June," Burt corrected.

Finn let out a heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. "Actually…" he started, feeling slightly guilty for even opening his mouth when Burt frowned at him. "There was a really brief switch while we were in New York."

Kurt blinked. "When were we in New York?"

"A few weeks ago, before Christmas. But we're pretty sure it was you, not one of the alters."

Before Kurt could react to this, Burt straightened up, his eyebrows pulled tightly together. "Wait a minute. You're telling me that Kurt came back while you were in New York? And you didn't tell us?"

"Burt, we—"

Burt shook his head. "No," he snapped. "No, you don't have a right to do that."

"Burt!" Finn raised his voice only slightly, forcing Burt to allow him to respond. "We didn't know for sure, okay? He was only there for a minute, and we honestly didn't know that it wasn't just Tyler or Eleanor."

Burt huffed, scratching irritatedly at his temple.

"And on top of that, I wasn't even there when it happened," Finn continued. "Only Hannah saw it, and you know she's not as good at telling them apart as we are."

"You should have told me," Burt repeated.

"We didn't _know_," Finn insisted, a small wave of anger fluttering in his stomach. "There was no point in telling you Kurt was back if we weren't even sure that it was him. Alright? It would have killed you and you know it."

"Stop it!" Kurt interrupted, his spine going rigid. He rubbed anxiously at his forehead. "I'm back for a couple of hours and we're already fighting?"

"Kurt's right," Carole said, reaching over to squeeze Kurt's hand. "It's getting late. We should all get some sleep."

Kurt let out a small huff, sounding exhausted. "The last thing I want to do is go to sleep," he said.

"I don't blame you," Carole concurred. "But this conversation is better suited for tomorrow."

Finn nodded, though he wasn't sure if he agreed with her or if he was just looking for an escape route. A temporary one, anyhow. He knew there was no running away from any of this.

"I'll make up the couch for you, Kurt," Carole said. Normally, Kurt would have just gone back to his apartment on the other side of town, but it would have been cruel to insist he stay there tonight.

"Thanks, Carole. I'm going to stay up for a little while longer."

"I'll stay up with you," Burt said.

Finn yawned, dragging his hand over his hair. "Okay, I'm going to go crash," he said, dumping the cold remains of his coffee into the sink. "I'll see you all in the morning." He circled around the counter island toward the door to the living room. "And Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

Finn reached forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, realizing suddenly that the gesture was completely unreserved. For nearly ten years, Finn had felt as though, despite Andy being perfectly friendly and helpful and part of the family, there was always a certain amount of distance. Finn had never gotten the impression from Andy that he was all that welcome to express affection, and for the first time in a _very_ long time, Kurt returned the hug with sincerity.

"I've missed you, man," Finn said, letting go after several seconds.

A nervous but grateful smile tugged at Kurt's mouth. "I missed you too," he replied.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Finn promised, clapping Kurt's shoulder lightly.

None of this made any sense, and Finn was terrified of what it might mean. If Kurt was back to his old cycle of switching between alters with little warning or protection, or even if Kurt was only here for a short period of time and tomorrow he was going to vanish for another ten years, then Finn had no clue how any of them would handle it this time around. But the most important thing now, outweighing the slew of frightening possibilities and questions and uncertainties, was that Kurt was back. Kurt was home, and Finn _had_ missed him. And even if Kurt did disappear again, at least now they knew he'd have a chance of coming back.

When Finn returned to the guest bedroom, feeling heavy and exhausted and like he'd been pushed off a cliff with no warning, he found Hannah still awake. She sat propped against the headboard, reading the latest issue of _National Geographic_ with Dylan fast asleep in the crook of her arm. She let the magazine fall onto the bed beside her when Finn entered, brushing a curl of hair out of her eye and tucking it behind her ear.

"Hey," she said softly. "How is everything?"

Finn let out a weighted exhale as he unbuttoned his shirt. His shoulders felt tight, like a fist was clamping around his spine just below his neck. "I have no idea how to answer that."

Hannah was quiet for a moment, carding her fingers gently through Dylan's hair. "Do you suppose it means he's getting better?"

Finn shook his head as he undressed to his undershirt and boxers, leaving his clothes piled on the chair in the corner. "I honestly can't even think about it," he replied wearily, sliding under the covers next to her. "My brain is maxed out."

Hannah carefully shifted to lie down without waking Dylan. For the duration of their visit to Lima, Dylan had been sleeping on the foldout couch downstairs, but tonight was a worthy exception. Hannah switched off the reading lamp, and the room dove swiftly into darkness.

"Do you think Kurt will be okay?" she asked in a whisper.

Finn didn't reply immediately. His chest was tight. "The last time Kurt was around, he was twenty-four years old," he said slowly. "He's thirty-three now. How the hell do you even start to adjust to something like that?"

Hannah sighed, reaching across Dylan to brush her hand over Finn's forearm. "Try to get some sleep, okay? We'll deal with all the questions tomorrow."

"I might have to ask for a few extra days off from work."

"Worry about it tomorrow. Whatever this family needs, we're putting first."

Finn's spine finally relaxed slightly, his head sinking deeper into his pillow. He lifted his arm and wrapped his hand around Hannah's. "I love you."

"I love you too," Hannah said, squeezing his fingers. "Now get some sleep."


	2. Small Victories

..

_Small Victories_

_.._

Consciousness was a funny thing. It was such a vast concept to describe and such a strange phenomenon to experience that it would make one's head spin if they thought about it for too long – and that was just for people leading typical, uneventful lives. For Kurt, consciousness was infinitely multifaceted and impossible to pin down in any sort of coherent definition. Above all, it was absurdly difficult to reliably keep track of.

And so, when he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the living room ceiling, he jolted upright, terrified that another handful of years had passed him by without so much as a blink. He heaved a sigh of relief, seeing that the calendar on the wall hadn't changed during the night – Finn and his new family still smiled at Kurt from the glossy photo. Immediately thereafter, Kurt felt a subsequent wave of disappointment. Yesterday hadn't been any sort of dream or hallucination. He was really here, and he had really missed nearly ten years – ten _immeasurable _years – of his life.

Kurt swallowed, forcing himself to pull a few long, drawn-out breaths into his chest before pushing the blankets back and stepping out of the foldout bed, hyper-aware of the oxygen crackling in his fingertips. Being _awake_ was such a foreign sensation, and it was as though he could feel his heartbeat pulsing beneath every inch of his skin. He stretched, working the kinks out of his neck, and suddenly caught a whiff of coffee.

Caffeine had always had a way of honing his attention.

He found Finn in the kitchen, standing at the counter island with a newspaper spread out in front of him, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. Dylan sat on a booster seat at the table by the wall, messily devouring a sticky pancake with syrup all over his face and hands.

"Andy!" Dylan exclaimed cheerily as Kurt passed.

Finn's head snapped up.

"Morning," Kurt greeted him.

Finn didn't say anything immediately, appearing unsure of how to respond. His shoulders were tight.

Kurt held up his hands. "I'm still me, I promise," he said, and felt guilty when Finn quickly relaxed. Finn shouldn't have to wonder who he was going to see when Kurt walked into a room.

"You want some breakfast?" Finn offered. "Hannah made pancakes."

Kurt hoisted himself onto a stool across the island from Finn. "Yeah, please. Where is everybody?"

Finn flipped a couple of pancakes from a platter by the stove onto a separate plate for Kurt. "Hannah had to run to the store to pick up a couple things, Mom's at work, and Burt had to stop at the garage. Customer emergency or something," Finn shrugged, pushing Kurt's plate across the counter to him along with the syrup bottle. "He said he'd be back by noon."

Kurt glanced at the clock on the wall above the sink. It was barely nine-thirty.

"Is there coffee still?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah, one sec," Finn said, turning around to pour an extra mug for Kurt.

"Wait, am I on any medications?" Kurt stopped him abruptly. "Anything that caffeine would mess with?"

Finn shook his head. "Nah, you're good. You're just on a mild antidepressant; that's it."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "No antipsychotics?"

"Not for a long time," Finn replied. He handed the mug to Kurt. "By the way, Burt made an appointment with your doctor for this afternoon."

Kurt couldn't suppress a small sigh. "I'm back for less than twenty-four hours and I've already got to go to the doctor's. Yay."

It had been intended as a joke (or at least half of one) but Finn didn't so much as chuckle. "Well," he said instead, scratching at his temple. "This is kind of majorly significant. You should probably jump on it as soon as possible."

Kurt nodded; he knew Finn was right. He hated to admit that immediate therapy was necessary, but his sudden reappearance was by no means a minor change of condition.

"Burt's going to go with you," Finn added. "He's taking the afternoon off."

Kurt couldn't help feeling relieved. Whatever was going on, he didn't want to face it by himself.

He shoved a bite of sugary-sweet pancake into his mouth, chewing slowly. When he swallowed, it sat in the pit of his stomach in a heavy lump.

"All done!" Dylan announced, holding up his dirty plate with sticky hands. Pancake crumbs clung to the streaks of syrup on his cheeks.

Finn snorted. "We've got to get you cleaned up there, bud," he said, walking over to lift Dylan out of his chair. He sat Dylan on counter by the sink and ran a dishcloth under the faucet. "How the hell'd you get syrup in your nose?"

Kurt watched Finn clean Dylan's face and hands with a disconsolate fascination, the weight of everything he'd missed pressing relentlessly on his spine. Just the fact that Dylan was even _there_ – that he now _existed_ and Kurt couldn't quite grasp onto memories of him being born, of Finn being a new father – was more than a little frightening. And as much as Kurt knew he should probably be happy for Finn, with his new life and new family, Kurt just felt sad.

"We going to the playground today?" Dylan asked as Finn scrubbed the syrup residue from in between his fingers.

"Probably later," Finn said, rinsing the cloth under the tap. "Maybe Grandma can take you."

"I wanna go with Andy!" Dylan demanded.

Kurt's heart skipped. He was never going to get used to that.

Finn glanced over his shoulder at Kurt for a moment in silence, then turned back to his son. "Andy has to go to the doctor's," he replied. "He can take you to the playground another day."

"Can I have chocolate milk?"

"No, you had enough sugar already," Finn said sternly. "You can have water or juice."

"Juice!"

Kurt forced himself to eat a few more bites of breakfast, trying to ignore how much his brain was shouting that Finn was nowhere near old enough to be talking like a parent.

Finn moved Dylan to the stool at the end of the counter island, then handed him a juice box from the fridge. "So…" Finn started, scratching anxiously behind his ear. "I have to ask. You really weren't here at all? Just… nothing for ten years?"

Kurt's mouth tightened briefly, his stomach twisting into knots. "I'm not sure," he said carefully. "It's hard to explain…"

Finn frowned in confusion. He clearly thought it had been a yes or no question. "What do you mean?"

Kurt traced invisible patterns on the countertop with the tip of his finger. "It's kind of like…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "You know when you space out for a while, and you get so deep into your own thoughts that no matter what's in front of you, you don't really see it?"

Finn gave a brief nod of understanding.

"And then when you eventually snap out of it, it feels weird to be where you are even though you know you didn't actually go anywhere?" Kurt sighed, his chest tight. "It's like that."

Finn was quiet for several seconds, appearing deep in thought. When he did speak, all he said was a pensive but perplexed "…Huh."

If Finn had been intending to say anything more, it was lost when a cell phone sitting on the counter and charging from the wall socket suddenly rang loudly.

"That's your phone," Finn said, unplugging it and handing it to Kurt.

It rang a second time, the name _Michael Durand_ flashing across the touchscreen.

"You… should probably answer it."

"I don't know who it is!" Kurt hissed. "Who's Michael Durand?"

"I have no idea, but it might be important."

"I'm just going to let him leave a voicemail," Kurt shook his head, dropping the phone to the counter. "I was never good at improv."

The phone ceased ringing and went quiet, then buzzed a minute later. A little bubble popped up on its screen: _New Voicemail_.

Kurt tapped the screen, and a tinny robotic voice floated out from the speaker. "_You have one new message. New message—_"

"_Hey, Andy, it's Mike calling from the Columbus Dispatch. Just calling to check in and see where you are with the piece on the new Bruckheimer flick. We were supposed to receive a draft yesterday and we haven't gotten anything from you, so if it was a technical mix-up, please let me know. It needs to be in the paper on Friday, so we need to have it in hand by Thursday night. Call me when you get a chance, thanks._"

The line clicked, leaving Kurt frowning at the phone. "…What the hell?"

"You work for a few newspapers," Finn said, sipping his coffee. "Or, Andy does, anyhow."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Did you think you didn't have a job?"

Kurt blinked. "I guess I hadn't thought about it."

"You have an apartment too," Finn continued. "A really nice one, actually; it's over on—"

"Fletcher Street," Kurt blurted out. "Sixty-seven Fletcher Street, apartment two."

Finn stared at him.

"…How did I know that?"

Finn coughed awkwardly. "Maybe you've been a little more present than you thought."

* * *

"How're you feeling?" Burt asked as he pulled the truck into a parking spot between a Mini Cooper and a station wagon.

Kurt glanced out the window, staring up at the sign on the vinyl-sided building reading _Burke, Lewis, &amp; Sun Family Therapy_. "If I answer that question differently this time, are you going to stop asking me?" he asked, and immediately regretted it.

Burt's mouth clamped shut, and he switched off the engine.

Kurt huffed a sigh and sat back in the passenger seat. "Sorry. I get why you're asking," he amended. "But Dad, I really am feeling okay. I promise."

Burt reached over and squeezed Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt couldn't help noticing all the unfamiliar age lines marking his father's face. He wondered how many of those lines were from worrying.

"Can't blame me for checking in," Burt said with a half-smile. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Kurt climbed out of the car, following Burt up the steps to the front door. "Dad, the sign says this place is a family practice. Doesn't that mean they usually handle kids?"

"I think we're all involved in this enough for your case to count as a family one," Burt replied, unzipping his coat as they entered the building. "Besides, we really lucked out with Dr. Sun. She's the only doctor in Lima who has experience with DID."

"What happened to Dr. Goldberg? And Dr. McManus?" Kurt asked. He recalled that (as far as he could remember) even after he'd been discharged from Appalachian Behavioral they would still drive to Athens for bi-weekly appointments with McManus just so that he wouldn't have to readjust to a new therapist.

"McManus retired about six years ago," Burt answered.

Kurt felt a wave of disappointment. He'd trusted Dr. McManus deeply, and the three-hour trips to Athens had always felt worth it.

"You saw Dr. Goldberg a few times afterwards, but I think he was never really a good fit," Burt continued. "I mean, you didn't really start making progress until you started seeing Dr. McManus. You needed someone who was more personal, so we decided to look for other options. And, like I said, we really lucked out."

The waiting room was small and not fancy. A water cooler in one corner, a large potted fern in the other, cheaply upholstered chairs and a bin full of children's toys and books. The front desk was occupied by a clean-cut young man in glasses with a pen tucked behind his ear. There were only three other people in the waiting room – an elderly woman with a baby girl sitting in her lap, and a jittery middle-aged man who looked like he was waiting for someone. All in all, it felt homey and welcoming.

Burt leaned an elbow on the front desk. "We're here to see Dr. Sun," he said to the secretary. "Last name's Hummel."

"Of course, Mr. Hummel. Have a seat; she'll be right with you."

Kurt stripped off his knee-length coat and scarf as they moved to sit down. It was plenty warm in the office and he was already overheating. "Do I have to fill out any paperwork?" he asked.

Burt shook his head. "You've been coming here for almost six years. Everything's already been done, don't worry."

"The secretary didn't know who you were," Kurt pointed out.

"That's because I pretty much never come to your appointments with you." Burt readjusted his baseball hat, scratching idly at the back of his head. "Andy's very independent. I've only been here a couple of times."

A door on the other side of the front desk opened, and a small-statured woman emerged carrying a blue folder in the crook of her elbow. Kurt immediately recognized her, although he wasn't sure exactly how, and stood up before she had a chance to call his name.

"Kurt?" she said, a bright smile spreading across her features when he approached her. She was Chinese, clearly in her late forties but had aged well, her sleek black hair twisted into a bun and pinned to the back of her head. She wasn't dressed like a doctor, instead wearing slim jeans and a billowy white blouse. She held out her hand. "I'm Holly Sun. It's great to finally meet you."

Kurt shook her hand, and he failed to miss the odd look the secretary gave the two of them. The secretary (Steve, according to the nameplate atop the desk) obviously knew Kurt's face and was aware that Kurt wasn't a new patient, and so the introduction must have appeared strange out of context.

"Steve, hold all my calls for the next hour, please," Dr. Sun requested, then gestured with an open arm toward the door she'd come through. "Shall we?"

"Is my dad coming with me?" Kurt asked, glancing over his shoulder to where Burt was still sitting.

"He can join us later, if you'd like him to. For now, I'd like to speak with you one-on-one," Dr. Sun said. "Is that all right with you?"

Kurt took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

She cast a small wave in Burt's direction, then led Kurt through the door to her office. "Make yourself comfortable," she said cheerfully.

Kurt sat awkwardly on the couch against the wall, feeling out of place and hyper-alert. This whole place was so strangely new and familiar at the same time, and his brain was prickling as he struggled to wrap his mind around it. The walls were painted a soothing sky blue, and the room was small but comfortably furnished, with plenty of sunlight pouring in through the windows behind Dr. Sun's desk. There were a handful of framed watercolor paintings – one was of a forest at sunset, another was a close-up portrait of a deer. Kurt twisted to look at the painting hung above where he was sitting, remembering before he saw it that it depicted a large oak tree at the height of autumn, its bright red leaves still clinging to its branches.

Kurt sat back as Dr. Sun picked up a notepad from her desk and came over to sit in the chair opposite Kurt. "Help yourself to the candied ginger," she offered, gesturing to a small bowl sitting on the coffee table.

"Thanks," Kurt said, but didn't take any.

"So," Dr. Sun began, smiling again. "This must be very new for you."

"Kind of an understatement."

"How are you feeling?"

Kurt anxiously tugged at his earlobe. "Disoriented, I guess."

"Well, typically, I meet with you every three weeks to check in and see how things are going," she explained. "On the rare occasion that another alter shows up in your day-to-day life, we have an extra meeting to talk about what that could mean and to try to get everything back on the right track. Now that you're here, however, we may want to increase the frequency of our appointments for the time being."

Kurt nodded. "Okay, that sounds fine."

"Can you tell me how long you've been gone exactly?"

"Um… my dad said it was nine years and eight months." Kurt's stomach clenched; there was no way to say that with quite the amount of weight it deserved.

"Is he correct?"

"What do you mean?"

Dr. Sun leaned back in her chair, draping one leg over the other. She was wearing sandals despite it being January. "I mean, are there any points when you can remember coming back in that time? It's possible that this isn't your first transition back since then."

Kurt chewed on the insides of his cheeks, trying to think. The only crisp and clear memories he had felt so far away, and everything else that felt at all recent was blurry and disconnected. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Finn thinks I came back a few weeks ago, when we were in New York. He said it didn't last long, though – only a couple minutes – and they're not sure it was me."

Sun scribbled on her notepad for a moment, her lips pursed. "Hm, Andy should have mentioned that to me."

"You've been my therapist for six years, right?"

"Just about."

"So… what exactly is Andy's deal?"

"Pardon?"

Kurt looked out the window, studying the snow-covered parking lot. A breeze blew past the trees lining the road, knocking fistfuls of snow from the branches to the ground. "I'm just a little confused as to why he took over," he said. "The last I remember, Andy hadn't been around for all that long. He was, you know, the new guy, and the next thing I know I wake up ten years later and he's taken over my life."

"You're wondering why he became the dominant personality."

Kurt shifted in his seat, turning away from the window. "Yeah, I guess that's putting it more succinctly."

"Well, one of the things that makes treatment of your condition so complicated is because it's an illness that is almost purely psychological, with practically zero physical symptoms." Dr. Sun clasped her hands in her lap, her several rings clacking against each other. "This means that everything we do is inconcrete and is – at best – an educated guess."

"So what's your educated guess?"

"Judging by my extensive experience with Andy and my very limited experience with the other alters, I have to stay that I'm absolutely stunned by Andy's capacity – and by extent, yours – for managing an unhindered life. With the exception of very, very rare transitions, Andy handles life on the whole with an incredible amount of levelheadedness that, to be quite honest, I've never seen in an alter before."

Kurt frowned, partly unsure of what she meant exactly, and partly upset that one of his alters was better equipped to lead a normal life than he was.

Dr. Sun noticed his expression, and she let out a small sigh. "Kurt, I think that for you, Andy was a very smart decision."

"I didn't decide for him—"

She held up a hand. "I know, you didn't consciously decide for him to develop," she quickly said. "But I believe that you knew, subconsciously at least, that you weren't ready to handle things yourself. There's no shame in that whatsoever, but it meant that in order to cope, you had to figure out another strategy, and Andy was that strategy."

Kurt's vision blurred unexpectedly, and he swiped the heel of his hand over his eyes. He hadn't realized he was crying.

"Kurt, listen to me." Sun leaned forward. "The fact that you're here now, fully awake and aware as _yourself_, is a massive sign."

"Of what?" Kurt asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Of the possibility that you're ready to face what happened to you," Dr. Sun smiled encouragingly, her eyes crinkling.

"I don't feel ready," Kurt admitted. His lungs felt like they were being relentlessly squeezed inside his chest.

"Kurt, whatever happens, whether this means you're ready or not, I'm not going anywhere," Dr. Sun insisted. "Your support network is one the most important things to maintain, and I'm going to be here for you, for as long as it takes."

Kurt's throat felt constricted, like there was a rock sitting in the pit of his esophagus. He had never heard any of his doctors promise that before – not even Dr. McManus.

"We're going to get you better, Kurt. I promise. Whatever it takes."


	3. Thin Winter Light

_.._

_Thin Winter Light_

_.._

When Burt and Kurt returned home, the red winter sun was already beginning to set. The shadows grew long and stretched, and Kurt shivered in his coat as he followed Burt into the house.

"We're home," Burt called, hanging his jacket on the rack by the door.

Hannah was in the kitchen, making macaroni and cheese while Dylan sat on a stool at the counter and drew in a Hot Wheels coloring book. "Hey there," she greeted them. "You guys hungry?"

"Nah, I'm good until dinner," Burt shook his head. He ruffled Dylan's hair with his palm. "Hiya, kiddo. What're you coloring?"

"A dump truck," Dylan replied matter-of-factly. "It's pink!"

"I see that."

Kurt coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, Dad," he started. "I was thinking that maybe I could stop by my apartment before dinner."

Burt looked up. "Yeah? You want me to go with you?"

"No, that's okay. I just need a shower and a change of clothes; I'll be back in time for dinner."

"You sure?"

Kurt nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine." He turned to head out the door, and then stopped. "Um, do you mind if I borrow the car?"

Burt exchanged a brief glance with Hannah. "Kurt, you have your own car."

"…Right."

"Keys are on the rack."

"…Got them." Kurt picked up the one set of keys hanging on the small set of hooks just above the counter closest to the door.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Dad, I'm okay. I've got my phone. If anything happens, I'll call you." Kurt pushed the front door open and stepped out, but not before Burt called out one last tip.

"It's the Subaru."

Kurt threw a wave over his shoulder, letting the front door swing shut after him. Descending the front steps, Kurt clicked the tiny remote hanging off the keychain. The headlights of the Subaru Outback parked on the street by their front lawn flashed once. Kurt took a deep breath.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "My car."

The vehicle's interior was meticulously clean everywhere apart from the floors, which bore a layer of sand and gravel tracked in from the roads. There were absolutely no personal items that Kurt could see – nothing hanging from the rearview mirror, no travel mugs left in the cup holders, no bags forgotten in the back seats.

"Okay," he said to no one in particular as he turned the key in the ignition. "Sixty-seven Fletcher Street."

Driving through downtown Lima was almost eerie. Many of the businesses Kurt remembered were still in the same spots – Molly's 24-Hour Diner, the White Wizard tattoo parlor, the florist on Elm Street, St. Rita's Hospital – but others had vanished, new and unfamiliar storefronts taking their place. It was only through memories of the city layout and sheer muscle memory that Kurt managed to zigzag his way through town to a neighborhood on the north side of Schoonover Park, almost missing the left turn onto Fletcher.

Number 67 was a well-maintained Victorian-style house with two stories, painted a deep maroon with mahogany-colored eaves. Strangely enough, it did look like a place Kurt himself would choose to live, had he preferred to stay in Lima rather than New York or somewhere else more cosmopolitan. Kurt parked by the curb, locked the car and made his way up the shoveled walkway to the porch.

He found the front door locked, and instinctively reached for the key on his chain bearing a red cap. It opened on the first try.

"I am never going to get used to that," he sighed, wondering how many times he had said or thought that exact phrase in the past two days.

Inside was a small foyer, a door to the left labeled _1 – Miller_ and a stairwell ahead. A couple of bicycles sat in the narrow corridor past the banister. Kurt swallowed the fluttering sensation in his stomach, and climbed the stairs. On the second floor he found another small hallway with only a single door, this one labeled _2 – Hummel_.

Still not-quite-remembering, Kurt lifted the key with a green cap and slid it neatly into the keyhole. The lock clicked solidly, and the door opened.

Kurt's breath _whooshed_ from his lungs as he stepped into the apartment. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to find, or what he thought it might be like, but it was… normal. Utterly unimpressive, typical, and stunningly normal. Kurt flicked the light switch by the door and stood unmoving for a moment. Immediately in front of him was an archway leading into the kitchen, which was neatly kept with no dirty dishes left in the sink or crumbs on the counters. To his right opened up the living room and dining area – a couch with a TV, an armchair and ottoman, an expensive stereo system, a few framed photos decorating the walls. The only disorganized spaces were the coffee table, strewn with magazines and newspapers, and the dining table, which clearly doubled as both a place to eat and a place to work. A laptop sat open on the table, surrounded by a small pile of papers and more magazines.

Kurt shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of one of the dining chairs. He leaned over the mess of papers and picked up a random few, attempting to see what Andy had been working on last, and was startled to find that the printed words were nothing but blurs on the pages.

"What the…"

He squinted at the passages, only to have them worsen into less discernible smudges. Frowning as the backs of his eyes suddenly began to ache, Kurt held his hand further away, and the words slid into focus. He glanced around the room – everything else was crystal clear.

"Great," he huffed, not entirely unbitter. "I'm farsighted." As though on cue, he spotted a pair of glasses resting on the table next to the computer.

He was about to tentatively pick them up when his phone rang from his coat pocket, discourteously shattering the silence and making him jump. Swearing under his breath, Kurt dropped the papers back onto the table and dug through the coat, fishing out the phone to see _Michael Durand _lighting up the screen.

He quickly hit _Reject_ and left the phone on the table, reminding himself why he'd come here to begin with.

Heading for a door on the opposite side of the living room, Kurt entered the bedroom. The queen-sized bed hadn't been made, but the rest of the room was kept clean. A private bathroom opened up through the door adjacent to the closet.

Kurt moved to go into the bathroom, but stopped in his tracks in front of the bureau seated against the wall. Sitting atop the vintage dresser was a small congregation of framed photos, and Kurt's stomach suddenly twisted itself into knots. His chest ached hollowly and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

At the forefront was a photo of Finn and Hannah's wedding party – Hannah in her white dress flanked by her parents, and Finn standing proudly beside her. Carole and Burt posed next to him, and Kurt next to them. They were all smiling, and Kurt just wanted to cry. Here was physical proof that he had been present for his brother's wedding, and he couldn't remember it. He could remember which of his keys opened his apartment, but he couldn't recall his own brother's wedding day.

Sitting to the right was a picture of himself more recently, carrying Dylan on his shoulders at a beach he didn't recognize. Both his and Dylan's arms were outstretched, their hands joined. Dylan was giggling and a grin was plastered across Kurt's face. He wished he knew who had taken the picture.

The rest of the frames held similar non-memories, places and events he couldn't identify or connect. Kurt swallowed and worked up the courage to step away from the bureau, reminding himself that he had promised to be back home in time for dinner.

Except, that wasn't _really _his home anymore. This apartment – unfamiliar and filled to the brim with traces of a stranger – was his home instead.

In the bathroom, Kurt was confronted with another image he'd been completely unprepared for. Seeing himself in the mirror for the first time since he'd come back yesterday, Kurt's heart came to a complete stop. Staring back at him from his reflection was a man – not a boy or a young man, like he'd been expecting, but an actual _man_. He still looked like himself, but there were so many small shifts in his appearance that he almost seemed like a completely different person. His chest and shoulders had filled out, his facial features sharpened, and a faint line of stubble ran along his jawline. There were a handful of barely visible lines pressed into the corners of his eyes, and above the collar of his shirt, Kurt could clearly see his anchor tattoo inked into the skin of his neck. The black lines still looked nearly new, the edges hardly faded at all.

Kurt held his breath for a few moments, trying to slow his racing heart. _Could've been worse_, he tried to reason. _I could've woken up with grey hair._

He tore his eyes away from the mirror, trying not to catch his reflection again as he unbuttoned his shirt. At the very least, he could look forward to a shower. He pulled off his shirt and undershirt, tossing them into the laundry hamper by the door. He reached down to unbuckle his belt, but halted, raising his arms slightly.

Stretched up and down his wrists were his scars; he had almost forgotten about them. Jagged white lines knitted into his skin, stark even against his natural pale complexion. He glanced down at his chest, his heart sinking when he found that, yes, all of his cigarette burns were still there. Small round pockmarks marring his torso in a grotesque constellation; he didn't have to look in the mirror to know that the two identical scars on his back were there also.

No matter how much he didn't recognize his house or his family or his own reflection, all of his scars meant the same thing. They penetrated his protective skin and bored into his bones, screaming only one message at him from every nerve in his body:

_This is who you are. Don't forget it._

* * *

In the living room of the Hudson-Hummel house, Finn sat on the couch with Dylan, reading _Little Blue Truck Leads The Way_ while Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor. She had a large assortment of watercolor paintings spread out haphazardly around her, scribbling notes into her grade book as she examined them one by one.

"_A marching band joined the big parade,_" Finn read. "_Boom! went the drums, and the trumpets played—_"

"Boom!" Dylan chimed in, grabbing eagerly at the pages.

"It's a good thing they make these things out of cardboard," Finn said, making Hannah chuckle from her seat on the carpet. "What are you working on, babe?"

"Oh, I'm just grading the last assignments I gave before Christmas break," she answered without looking up. "I should've finished them like two weeks ago, but you know me."

"Queen procrastinator," Finn agreed. "Anything I can help you with?"

Hannah reached up to reposition the large hair clip keeping her curls out of her eyes. "No, I'm good. Please continue with your _riveting _performance of Little Blue Truck." She winked.

"Yes, ma'am."

Before Finn could continue reading to Dylan, Burt came in from the kitchen, wiping his fingers with a dishtowel.

"Hey," said Hannah. "How are the burgers coming?"

"Good, about fifteen more minutes. You mind giving Kurt a call to see how close he is? I've got meat grime all over my hands from the patties."

Hannah pulled her cell out of her jeans pocket and dialed Kurt's number, holding it to her ear for a minute. Her brows pulled together. "I got his voicemail."

Burt frowned, and in an instant Finn could see alarm flit across his stepfather's face.

"He's probably still in the shower," Hannah said quickly. "Maybe he just can't hear his phone."

"You want me to run over to the apartment?" Finn offered, though there was frankly nothing he'd rather be doing at the moment than read _Little Blue Truck_. If Kurt was fine, then there was no real point in going. If Kurt was _not_ fine, Finn really just wanted the peace to last a bit longer. A little denial could go a long way.

"Yeah, would you?" Burt nodded, scrubbing a little harder than necessary at his fingers with the dishcloth. "Dinner'll be done by the time you get back."

"Okay, Dylan, go play with Mom," Finn said, nudging Dylan off his lap.

"Where you going?" asked Dylan, dragging _Little Blue Truck Leads The Way _with him by one of its beat-up pages.

"I'm going to pick up Uncle Andy." Finn stood up, shaking out the arm that had fallen asleep while Dylan was sitting on it.

"Can I go with you?"

"No, no, you stay here with Mom. I'll see you in a bit." Finn gave Dylan another gentle push towards Hannah, who was already putting away her students' work in its folder.

"Call me when you get there," Burt said as Finn passed through the kitchen to the front door, shrugging on his coat. Finn could hear a slight tremor of anxiety in Burt's voice.

The drive across town to Fletcher Street took a few minutes, but to Finn it lasted only a handful of seconds. It was beginning to snow in the grey evening light, and even though it was cold enough in the car to raise goosebumps on his skin beneath his clothes, Finn wasn't shivering. He was pretty sure his heart was beating too slowly.

He drove past Schoonover Park and turned onto Fletcher, parking the minivan by the curb and stepping out into the cold, his breath fogging in front of his nose. Kurt's Subaru was sitting quietly in its designated parking spot just ahead. Finn drew a breath of frigid air deep into his lungs before crossing the small grassy patch between the road and the house, then climbed the porch steps and let himself into the foyer with his key. They had agreed as a family that it would be safest for all of them – Burt, Carole, and Finn – to carry copies of Kurt's keys (just in case), and while most of the time there was really nothing to worry about, it was a security measure that Finn greatly appreciated.

On the second floor, Finn held the apartment key in his hand but knocked first, hoping that Kurt would answer the door instead. "Kurt?" he called. There was a beat of silence, and he knocked again. "Kurt, you there?"

Finn swallowed, the chill seeping into the pit of his stomach.

He was just about to unlock the door himself when it swung open, and Kurt stood in front of him with his cell phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. He had showered and changed and was now wearing his glasses, a fistful of red-marked edited pages in one hand and a pen in the other. He waved at Finn briefly over his shoulder, not pausing for a greeting as he turned and walked back into the apartment, continuing his conversation on the phone.

"—sure thing. Okay, Mike, I forwarded you the first draft of the Bruckheimer piece, and I'm about halfway through the one on the _Wicked _remake, so I'll have that for you by Saturday."

Finn stared at Kurt's retreating back, stepping cautiously into the apartment. He shut the door behind him. "Kurt?" he said.

Kurt held up a finger, silently telling Finn to wait. "Yeah, absolutely," he continued, dropping his pages onto the dining room table by his computer. "Sorry for the delay. Alright, have a good evening." He ended the call, leaning over the table to scribble something onto a notepad. "Hey, Finn, what's up?" he asked without raising his head.

"Andy."

Kurt finally looked up. "Yeah."

Finn wanted to punch the wall. "Where's Kurt? Why isn't he here?"

Kurt frowned slightly. "I have a deadline," he said, as if it should have been obvious.

"You have…" Finn trailed off, completely unsure if he would rather scream or just grab Kurt by the shoulders and shake him. "Andy, you need to let Kurt come back right now."

Kurt straightened up, snatching his glasses off his nose in irritation. "Finn, for God's sake, we've been over this a hundred times. I can't control what Kurt does. I'm not _keeping_ him from being here, all right?"

"It sure seems like it," Finn snapped.

Kurt's mouth clamped shut, and Finn regretted saying anything at all.

Letting out a heavy breath to calm his nerves, Finn shook his head and reached into his pocket. "I have to call Burt and let him know you're not coming."

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't come to dinner," Kurt countered.

Finn paused, his cell phone already in his hand. "…No offense, Andy," he started nervously, not quite able to meet Kurt's eye. "But I think it might be better for you to skip this one."

Kurt raised his hands placatingly. "Alright, fine," he acquiesced, pulling his fingers through his hair. "I'll stay here and get some work done."

"You've got a deadline, I know."

Finn turned to leave, but not quickly enough to miss the hurt expression on Kurt's face.

* * *

Holly Sun was stretched out on the couch with her feet in her husband's lap, the two of them in the midst of watching _Bullitt_ when the phone on the coffee table rang. Only mildly upset that her evening had been interrupted, Sun picked up the receiver while Jack paused the movie, Steve McQueen's face freezing in place on the TV screen.

"Hello?"

"_Andy's back._"

Sun sat up at once, recognizing Burt Hummel's voice and needing no clarification. She held her hand over the receiver mouthpiece. "Jack, it's work. Sorry."

Jack held up his hands. "Say no more," he said, and quickly excused himself to the kitchen, letting her take the call in private.

Sun put the phone back to her ear. "How's he doing?"

"_Didn't you hear me?_" Burt asked brusquely. "_Andy's _back_._"

She ran a palm over her hair, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees. Burt sounded desperate, and she couldn't exactly blame him for that. "Burt, if you're calling to ask me why Kurt transitioned," she began carefully, "I'm sorry but you would know better than I. He transitions when he's particularly stressed. You know that, and you've been with him more recently than I have. Was there a clear trigger?"

"_No, Andy just – just reappeared_," Burt snapped, frustration seeping through the phone. "_Did he say anything during your meeting?_"

"If he did, I wouldn't be able to tell you. He's my patient," Sun reminded him gently. "You know that perfectly well too."

"_Well, what am I supposed to do?_" Burt demanded. "_Is – is he going to be gone for a day? A week? Another – another ten years?_" His voice cracked at the end, and Sun wished there was a concrete answer to give him.

She sighed, shifting to sink back into the couch. "Burt. You have to understand that even though Kurt's mental state may have improved enough for him to come back, this is still a major life change for him," she explained, attempting to phrase what she needed to say as diplomatically as possible. "And however positive the change might be, it's still going to carry a great amount of stress. It won't be an instantaneous adjustment. You have to give him time and allow him to deal with it in his own way, at his own pace."

Burt was quiet on the other end.

"…Burt?"

"_I'm still here._"

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

There was a pregnant pause, and finally Burt spoke again. "_What if Kurt doesn't come back this time?_"

"I don't have all the answers, Burt," Sun confessed. "I'm just here to provide support, and I will be there for all of you if anything happens. But if Kurt's not in danger currently, then you need to give him some space and let him do his thing. Do you think you can do that?"

A heavy exhale from the other end made the line crackle with static. "_Yes. I can try._"

"Okay, good. Well, I've got an appointment with Kurt scheduled for next week, but until then, keep me in the loop if anything major happens."

"_Okay_."

"Good night, Burt."

Sun hung up, sinking back into the couch and feeling somewhat ineffectual. Kurt was not her first patient suffering from this particular illness, but he was definitely among her toughest to treat. It wasn't that Andy hadn't been helpful or cooperative – it was just that making any sort of _real _progress was nearly impossible with Andy as the dominant personality with no trace of Kurt to be seen. Now that Kurt had resurfaced, maybe there was something that could be done, but Sun knew it would have to be taken slowly and delicately if treatment was going to be effective at all.

If they went about it wrong, Kurt could simply retreat again, and never come back.

"Everything okay?"

Sun was shaken out of her thoughts. Her husband was standing in the doorway from the kitchen, holding a beer in each hand. Jack held one out to her as he came over to rejoin her on the sofa.

"Yeah, of course," she said, already wanting to take her mind off the issue – at least temporarily. "Go ahead, play the movie."

* * *

Cold air filled Kurt's lungs, chilling him from the inside out as he opened his eyes, finding himself seated on an icy bench. His breath hung in front of his nose, dissipating slowly as he looked around. He was in his old familiar playground, but it was… changed. Nothing looked quite the same even here.

The grass was gone, a layer of snow carpeting the frozen ground in patches. Icicles hung from the swing set and the monkey bars and the tiny carousel. The nearby trees had lost their leaves, their branches left bare as bones. It was so _quiet_. No hint of a breeze, or leaves rustling. The sky was blanketed with heavy grey clouds, trapping the playground in silence.

Kurt could see Tyler curled up on the other bench across the playground, asleep with his arms clutched around Raleigh and a dusting of snow covering him. Further away, still stuck inside the jungle gym, was Schism. He was half-buried in snow and looked as though he'd remained still for so long that he'd eventually frozen solid, his body withered and wasted in the cold.

Kurt shivered.

He jumped and almost cried out when he was abruptly punched in the shoulder, making him lurch to his feet. Eleanor and Robbie were standing next to him, Robbie's arms crossed over his chest and Eleanor's fist still clenched. Their fingers had turned dark with frostbite.

Eleanor's jaw twitched. "About fucking time you showed up."


	4. Truth Be Told

..

_Truth Be Told_

..

Tuesday morning dawned sunny and breezy, knocking heavy clumps of snow off the branches of the evergreens. Finn had woken earlier than usual and eaten breakfast alone in the kitchen while the sun rose outside, casting dappled pale light over the snowdrifts outside. He then did a handful of chores to make things easier on his mother, and was in the middle of taking the trash out to the street when Kurt's Subaru pulled up to park at the edge of the lawn. Finn shivered, wearing only his pajama pants, undershirt, and parka, and waited with his heart in his stomach for Kurt to get out of the car.

Kurt stepped out of the driver's seat and shut the door behind him, clutching a large paper bag in one hand. "I brought bagels," he announced.

"I already ate."

"And a good morning to you, too," Kurt replied dryly. "I have a couple cinnamon-raisin ones for Dylan."

"Thanks, Andy," Finn said, unable to keep the tightness out of his voice. He hoped that Kurt would frown and take offense that Finn had mistaken him for Andy, but instead Kurt only nodded.

"We should probably go inside before you freeze," Kurt suggested, eyeing the flip-flops that Finn had slipped on to take out the trash.

Finn sighed, his breath misting and curling up around his ears. The icy wind tugged at his flannel pajama bottoms. He wasn't sure if Burt and Carole would accept Andy being at the breakfast table rather than Kurt, but he knew they couldn't just keep him out of the house like a stray dog. "Alright, come on," Finn caved, walking back up the walkway with Kurt trailing behind.

Inside, Finn pulled off his boots at the door while Kurt dropped the bag of bagels on the counter and stripped off his coat. "There should be some cream cheese in the fridge," Finn said, hanging up his parka. "I'm going to go check on Dylan."

Kurt sent a thumbs-up over his shoulder, already rummaging through the refrigerator as Finn left the kitchen.

Finn gave himself a shake as he headed upstairs, trying (and failing) to relieve the tension from his shoulders and spine. He hated this. His relationship with Andy had only been strained in the beginning, before Kurt had disappeared. At first, Finn just put up with Andy because he didn't have any other option. Later on, they eventually developed a strangely friendly relationship that Finn had never had with the other alters – while the rest of them were angry or scared or even completely out of touch with reality, Andy was a constant. He was responsible and careful, and most importantly, he was trustworthy. He was a little emotionally detached, perhaps, but at least Finn and his parents never had to worry that Andy would hurt Kurt like Truman and Eleanor and Craig, or completely shut down like Tyler and Zack and Schism. Andy was safe.

And within a day, that entire perception had been flipped on its head.

As soon as Kurt had reappeared, Andy once again became a threat, in the same way the rest of the alters were threats regardless of whether they were antagonistic. Andy's sheer _existence_ threatened their ability to keep Kurt in place for long, and now that they knew that Kurt wasn't entirely gone… It made Andy's presence a slap in the face.

In the guest room, Dylan was still asleep, sprawled out under the covers with one arm wrapped tightly around Siggy, his stuffed zebra. He'd spent the night with Finn and Hannah again. Finn let him continue sleeping while he threw on some actual clothes, discarding his pajama pants and undershirt on the chair in the corner in favor of a t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans. He could hear Hannah taking a shower down the hall.

Finn leaned over the edge of the bed, patting Dylan's back. "Hey, buddy. Time to get up. Come on."

Dylan blearily opened his eyes and lifted his head, his rumpled hair sticking up in about six different directions.

"Guess what," Finn said, trying to smooth down the cowlick at the back of Dylan's head. "Uncle Andy brought you some bagels."

Dylan instantly perked up, sitting up on his knees. His Superman pajamas crackled with static. "Cim'mon raisin?" he asked.

"You bet. You hungry?"

"Yeah!"

Finn grinned, lifting Dylan out of the bed and propping him on his hip. Dylan dragged Siggy with him, yawning despite his excitement at the prospect of his favorite breakfast.

"Morning, guys," Burt said from the hallway, emerging from his and Carole's room. "Hannah downstairs already?"

"No, she's in the shower. Andy's making breakfast."

Burt paused, his jaw tightening momentarily. "Andy is?" he said, and Finn could practically see the anxiety seizing Burt's heart.

"Yeah."

Burt let out a long breath, rubbing a palm over his scalp in agitation.

Finn shifted Dylan to his other hip. "Burt, I'm sure he'll be back soon."

His stepfather nodded, but it didn't look like he believed Finn in the slightest. He just looked _sad_.

Still, they couldn't avoid Andy forever, and Burt knew that as well as Finn did. Together they headed downstairs, finding the kitchen counters already laid out with sliced and toasted bagels, cream cheese, butter, and jam.

"You've been busy," said Burt. His voice shook almost imperceptibly.

Kurt was already chewing on a large bite of an asagio, which he had to swallow before replying. "I got the tomato-basil ones you like," he said, gesturing to the end of the counter.

Finn set Dylan on a stool at the island, where there was already a plate with a buttered cinnamon-raisin, and abruptly realized what this breakfast was. This was a peace offering. Or, at least, it was an attempt at one. Andy felt guilty for being here.

Finn sat on the stool next to Dylan, watching Kurt go about setting breakfast up for everyone. Kurt offered him a bagel, and when Finn politely refused, right away offered coffee instead. Finn didn't want coffee either, but he accepted it anyways. Maybe the best thing they could do was let Kurt do whatever he felt like he needed to accomplish in this particular moment.

Burt sat at the small kitchen table, further away from Kurt.

"You want coffee, Burt?"

Finn didn't miss the slight wince on Burt's face – almost a flinch, really – when Kurt called him by his actual name rather than 'Dad'.

"Sure," Burt forced out, not quite meeting Kurt's eye.

Carole came into the kitchen then, wrapped up in her fluffy blue bathrobe, and bid everyone a good morning. She gave Dylan a kiss on the top of his head, wiping butter and bagel crumbs from his cheek. Kurt had his back to them, digging through the fridge in search of the orange juice. Carole glanced at Finn, her eyes questioning. Finn shook his head slightly, and her shoulders fell. Finn knew she'd been hoping as much as the rest of them that Kurt would be back by this morning.

"Carole, you want coffee or juice?" Kurt asked over his shoulder.

"Tea's fine, thanks," she said, and Finn could tell that her smile was falsely bright. She moved to join Burt at the table, reaching over to squeeze his hand in silent consolation.

Burt was fuming. Rage was blatantly etched into his jaw, his taut shoulders, the fists he was trying not to clench. Finn sipped his coffee, burning his tongue, and hoped Burt wouldn't start a fight. Kurt needed time.

No such luck.

"Andy, where the hell is Kurt?" Burt finally said, his words resonating like a guitar string that had been tightened past its capacity. "Why isn't he here?"

Kurt was quiet for a second, and Finn felt all the muscles in his abdomen involuntarily go rigid.

"I don't have an answer for you," Kurt said. Finn couldn't tell if his tone was offended or apologetic.

"Why not?"

Kurt, who had been just about to slice an orange in half, placed the knife flat on the cutting board. "We've been over this, Burt," he stated cautiously. "I don't communicate with the alters."

"Kurt's not an alter."

"I don't communicate with him either."

Burt sniffed, appearing for just a moment like a bull ready to charge. "Andy, it's been ten _years_, and Kurt suddenly shows up again, and the next thing we know he's gone and you're here again. You didn't bother telling anyone Kurt was still around, and—"

Kurt interrupted him then, cutting him off with a raised voice. "Hey, I didn't know that Kurt was still here, okay? If I had, I would have told you."

"Excuse me if I don't believe that for a second," Burt snapped.

Kurt's eyes narrowed, his jaw twitching. "I'm not Eleanor or Robbie," he argued. "I don't reject medication. I don't hurt Kurt or anyone else. I don't hide from you, or screw with you because I think it's funny. And I've never lied to you."

"Yeah?" Burt demanded. "How the hell am I supposed to know that for sure?"

Kurt held up a hand as if to say _STOP_, his shoulders pulling back as he drew his spine upward. "I am not on trial here, so don't talk to me like I am," he ordered, the pitch of his voice dropping several tones in anger. "You should show me a little respect."

Finn felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He'd never seen Andy quite this furious before. He debated for a split second whether it would be better to take Dylan out of the kitchen and away from this before the argument escalated, but Burt seemed to have reached his boiling point already.

"For what?" Burt seethed.

"For protecting your _son_!" Kurt braced his hand against the top of the counter, looking as though he was trying to keep himself from going anywhere. "Listen, Burt, regardless of whether he's going to come back today, or tomorrow, or next month or _never_… the only reason he's lived this long is because of _me_. I've never hurt him or given you any reason to not trust me, so I think I've earned the right to be spoken to like an adult." Kurt released a huff of air, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. "Don't you?"

Burt's mouth clamped shut, and he shook his head once before standing up from the table. "I can't deal with… with _this_," he gestured despairingly in Kurt's direction. "I can't right now. I just…" He shook his head again, then sniffed (Finn was pretty sure Burt was holding back tears) and walked out of the room.

"Is Grampa mad?" Dylan asked.

Finn let out a long breath, the back of his head buzzing like he either had too much or too little oxygen in his bloodstream. "He's okay," he promised, rubbing Dylan's back solidly. "Come on, eat your bagel."

Carole had sat back in her chair, her arms crossed and her mug of steaming tea untouched. "Andy, you really need to cut Burt some slack," she said lowly.

Kurt sighed, leaning back against the counter. To his benefit, he didn't really seem all that angry anymore – only frustrated, and perhaps just as much as Burt. "I get it, Carole. I really do," he replied calmly (a welcome change of tone). He raked his fingers through his hair. "But I can't – I can't just pull Kurt out of a hat like a magic rabbit. I'm not a puppeteer."

Carole only appeared to be more annoyed by this statement, and pursed her lips. When she spoke, her response was diplomatic but still managed to sound like a warning. "We understand that, Andy. In the meantime, however, _you_ need to treat Kurt's _father_ with the respect that _he_ deserves."

Kurt's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. There was nothing left to debate.

Carole stood up and went after Burt, leaving Kurt alone in the kitchen with Finn and Dylan.

Kurt sighed, not moving from his position leaning on the counter for several long moments. Eventually, he straightened up and snatched his unfinished bagel from the island, irritatedly ripping off a piece with his teeth. Finn sipped his coffee.

"Are you going to accuse me of keeping Kurt locked up too?" Kurt asked when he noticed Finn watching him.

"No."

"So, what, you think they're right or you just don't want to argue?"

"Both."

Kurt blinked at him. "Fair enough."

After that, neither of them pushed the issue any further. Finn coaxed Dylan to actually _eat_ his breakfast rather than just happily licking all the butter off of it, and Kurt set about cleaning up the half-finished food left on the counters and table. While he worked, Finn watched his back. Kurt's shoulders were tighter than usual, his movements a little too controlled, and Finn was fairly sure Kurt was outright avoiding looking at him.

_Come on, Kurt,_ Finn prayed. _Don't disappear on us again._

* * *

Kurt's teeth chattered as he studied the frozen playground. Even with Eleanor and Robbie there, it felt _empty_. Tyler hadn't moved, and Kurt was beginning to wonder if he'd gone the same way as Schism, simply freezing solid where he was. The carousel and swing set both bore patches of rust along the metal bars, and over by the slide one of the platforms had collapsed, broken wooden planks hanging haphazardly to the ground with rusty nails sticking out. The whole playground looked like it was dying.

"What happened to this place?" he asked.

"Nothing," Robbie said, pacing behind the bench where Kurt and Eleanor were sitting. The snow crunched under his shoes. "Nothing happened. Ever."

"Things got… really quiet after you left," Eleanor said. Her frostbitten fingers were stiff; she kept rubbing and squeezing and trying to warm them up.

"I didn't _leave_, I just—"

Eleanor crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

Kurt sighed. "Not intentionally."

"Oh. Sure," Eleanor said flatly. "That makes everything better."

Kurt didn't say anything for a moment, looking across the playground to where Tyler was laying on the other bench, covered in snow. He couldn't tell from here if Tyler was breathing. "Is he dead?"

"We don't know," said Robbie.

Kurt gave Robbie and incredulous look. "You don't _know_?"

"Hey, we've done what we can, okay?" Eleanor snapped. "Tyler just doesn't wake up anymore. Ever since you left and Andy took over, things have gone to shit."

Kurt frowned in surprise. This was the first he'd heard anything truly negative about Andy. "Really?"

"Look around you!" Eleanor gestured sweepingly to their surroundings. "This place is a fucking cemetery."

"But… Andy's been taking care of everything."

"If that's what you want to call it," Robbie grunted bitterly.

"He's the fucking prison warden," Eleanor chimed in.

Kurt mulled this over for a moment. Considering the condition of his apartment, his job, and, hell, the fact that he actually had a _life_ beyond treatment and therapy probably meant that whatever Robbie and Eleanor said about Andy should be taken with a grain of salt. They might have had a problem with him, but Robbie and Eleanor had problems with a lot of people.

"He's seemed okay to me," Kurt said with a half-shrug. "At least, from what I've seen."

"Yeah, well, you're a pushover." Eleanor abruptly frowned, glancing in confusion around the playground. "Do you smell smoke?"

"No," said Robbie, perhaps a little too quickly.

"So, where is everyone?" Kurt asked. He rubbed his hands together and blew into his palms to warm them up. He couldn't feel his fingertips anymore.

"What do you mean?" Robbie stopped his pacing momentarily. "This _is_ everyone."

Eleanor shivered, her shoulders trembling in the chill. "We all know what Truman did to Craig and Zack, and what you did to Truman. Tyler's decided to be Mr. Comatose over there, Schism's a fucking mummy, and Red scurried off to the woods to be weird and creepy all on his own." A strange sort of shadow passed quickly over Eleanor's face, her jaw twitching briefly. "We're all that's left."

"Well, us and the warden," Robbie grumbled.

Kurt clenched his teeth, trying to keep them from chattering. "Does Andy really keep you guys under lock and key that much?"

Eleanor glared at him. "Do you _see_ this?"

She gestured again to the playground – to the rusted-over carousel, the collapsed platform, the frozen ground, Tyler, Schism (or whatever was left of him), the sharp glinting icicles. Frost gripped every surface not already covered in snow or ice. One could easily imagine that the snow blanketing the ground was volcanic ash instead, burying the bodies of the playground's residents, and that these were the ruins of Pompeii.

Eleanor spoke through her teeth, her frozen fingers curling into furious fists and her voice cracking slightly. More than anything, she seemed heartbroken.

"_All _of this is Andy's fault."


	5. Sin Of Omission

..

_Sin Of Omission_

..

Kurt woke with a start, finding himself sprawled out on his stomach in bed with his cell phone ringing shrilly on the end table by his head. He jerked upright, pushing the blankets off his back as he fumbled for the phone, which ceased buzzing as soon as he picked it up. _Missed Call: Mitchell Seville_, read the little bubble on the touchscreen. Kurt sighed and deleted the notification. It was probably a work call – another unfamiliar boss at another unfamiliar newspaper – and he didn't want to deal with that so early in the morning.

Well… the phone's clock read 10:43. Not as early as he thought.

Kurt's heart skipped for a moment, reading the date beneath the time.

_Friday, January 8th_.

He had missed another handful of days. More time gone, more memories unaccounted for. He dropped his head back to the pillow in disappointment, his throat clenching with a disgusting sense of failure. He tried to rationalize, reminding himself that the newest gap in his memory could have been much, _much_ larger than a few days, but it only made him feel heavy and miserable.

It was too hot in here; he'd been sweating all night and he grimaced when he realized the t-shirt he'd been sleeping in was damp. Shoving the weighted blankets away from his legs, he forced himself to get up and stumble into the bathroom for a cold shower. He stood motionless under the spray of frigid water until he started shivering, finally turning it up to a comfortable temperature and scrubbing the grime from his unfamiliar skin.

Eventually, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel, pointedly leaving the mirror fogged up so he wouldn't have to see his incongruous reflection. Tossing on a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a fresh shirt, Kurt re-checked his phone to find a follow-up text from Mitchell Seville. He couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed. Was it too much to ask that people just give him some time on his own?

_You free this weekend?_ read the text.

Kurt tossed the phone onto the bed, resigning to answer it later, if he did at all. "If I am free, it's not for you," he muttered, shutting the bedroom door behind him as he made a beeline for the kitchen. Even if he couldn't control when he'd wake up or black out, he could at least make himself a meal and do something somewhat productive and healthy.

He knew he'd have to call his father sooner or later – it was unfair to leave Burt thinking that Andy was still at the wheel – but frankly, Kurt just wanted some time _alone_. He glanced at the clock on the wall by the fridge, now reading 11:30 on the dot. One hour, he made himself promise. He'd give himself just one hour, and then he'd call his family.

He prepared an egg-white omelet and sat at the dining room table, staring across his apartment in a sort of daze. Everything still felt too distant and disconnected, as though even Kurt's own arms and legs didn't belong to him anymore, let alone an _apartment_ or any of the things in it. Someone else had decided on the furniture, and arranged the pictures on the walls, and paid for the food he was now eating. Someone else had done all of this while he wasn't paying attention.

He should have been paying attention.

At the other end of the dining table, where Andy had apparently set up his usual workspace, the mess of drafts and magazines had been tidied up and neatly stacked by the laptop. The laptop itself had been left closed, and for the first time since sitting down Kurt noticed that there was a post-it note stuck to its surface. He reached over and peeled it off, expecting to find a reminder that Andy had written to himself of a new deadline or something.

Instead, it was a note.

_Kurt – All deadlines for the week have been met, and I managed to talk Mike into giving me the upcoming week off. If he calls, you're in Florida with your dying Grandpa Murray. You're welcome._

Kurt stared at the post-it for a good sixty seconds, not quite believing what he was seeing. As strangely helpful as some of the alters had been on occasion, he had never once experienced any of them relinquishing control without protest.

Maybe it would be easier to live with Andy than he'd previously thought.

* * *

For Burt, this past week had not been the best one he'd ever had. It had started off with so much _joy_, and then before Burt knew it, Kurt was gone again and some stranger was back in his place. Dr. Sun was right – there was no way of knowing when Kurt would come back, or even if he would at all. But somehow, knowing that Kurt hadn't been entirely erased and still just wasn't _there_ made it even worse.

On the one hand, Burt couldn't find words to express how utterly grateful he was that Kurt was still present, however fleeting that might be. On the other hand, none of this was the life he'd wanted for his son. Disappearing into himself without warning or explanation was no way to live, and Burt wanted to scream at God or whoever the _hell_ decided that his family was deserving of this. It had all been easier when they thought Kurt was gone for good.

When Andy had first appeared, Finn was off in college and Kurt had been working full-time in the tire shop, and the transition had been so _fast_. Andy had materialized without fuss or fanfare, unlike the rest of the alters, who had all seemed to announce their existence with a dramatic bang. Andy was just, suddenly, there. And less than two months later, Kurt was gone without so much as a whisper.

Until this week.

Burt hated knowing there was nothing he could really do to push Andy out of the way, to jar Kurt into coming back. So he did what he was good at instead – he threw himself headfirst into his work. All week he'd been pulling extra-long shifts at the tire shop, doing mostly paperwork (like a good boss should), but whenever there was a lull in inventory and bill-paying he would go out to the floor and get elbows-deep in the engines with the rest of his employees.

So far, the shop had served as an adequate distraction, but today was Friday, and Burt had Saturdays off. Tomorrow, he would be home all day, and he hated himself for not looking forward to it. He was a grandfather now, and he should've been excited about spending a day at home with his wife, his kids, his daughter-in-law, and his grandson. But all he could think about was how much it hurt whenever he looked at Kurt and saw someone else.

Lunch break rolled around, and Burt cleaned the oil stains from his fingers and retired to the break room in back to eat the turkey sandwich Carole had packed for him. He flipped idly through a NASCAR magazine one of the guys had left on the break room table, his meal tasting like chalk as he forced himself to chew and swallow. It was too quiet in here, and tried to eat faster so he could get back out to the garage, where the noise of metal grinding and welding sparks flying would drown out his thoughts and let him relax.

The break room door opened and Ray, one of his senior mechanics, leaned in. "Hey, Burt," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the garage. "Hummel Junior's here for you."

Burt frowned, a chill settling into the pit of his stomach. "I didn't ask him to come by," he said, more to himself than to Ray. "Is he having car trouble?"

Ray shook his head. "No, he just asked to see you."

Burt sighed, crumpling up the paper bag from his sandwich. "Okay, just tell him to head to my office; I'll be there in a sec."

Ray nodded once and turned to leave, but stopped, his hand still on the doorknob. "Everything okay, Burt?" he asked.

Burt's mouth tightened. Ray was the only person working in the shop who had any idea that Kurt wasn't in peak health, only because he'd been working for Burt for the last twenty years. As far as Burt knew, Ray wasn't aware of what Kurt's situation was exactly, but Kurt had worked alongside Ray for almost five years after high school, and Ray wasn't an idiot. He could tell that something wasn't quite right, but much to Ray's credit, he'd never pushed Burt for any explanations.

"Everything's fine, thanks," Burt lied.

Ray didn't press any further, disappearing back into the garage.

Burt drew a deep breath into his lungs, steeling his nerves as he stood up. He tossed out his lunch trash and headed through the door, knowing he couldn't avoid Andy and it was stupid to try. But at least he could lay down some ground rules.

In the office, Kurt was standing waiting for him, his hands hanging in the pockets of his winter overcoat. "Hi—" he started, but Burt held up a hand.

"Okay, Andy, we need to talk," he said, letting the office door fall shut behind him. "You can't just show up here unannounced; you need to call first."

Kurt's jaw clacked shut, and he stared at Burt in stunned silence.

Burt sighed. He felt bad, but it felt like distancing himself from Andy was the only thing he could do to keep sane. At least, for the time being. "Look, I'm not – I'm not blaming you for anything," he attempted to explain, "and I'm… I'm trying to deal with you being here. I just need a little bit of time, okay? That's all I'm asking."

A small breath huffed out of Kurt's lungs. "I – I, um…" he stammered.

Burt's stomach twisted. Something was off.

"It's me, Dad," Kurt said.

Burt's heart skipped. "Are you messing with me?"

Kurt eyes widened, a shadow flitting over his face. "N-no, it's me, I promise," he insisted. "I promise."

Relief tinged with dismay bloomed somewhere inside Burt's hollow chest, and for a brief moment it occurred to him that he might be having another heart attack.

"You're really here?" he said, searching Kurt's face for some concrete sign that it was really his son he was speaking to. But it had just been so _long_ and Burt was so used to seeing Andy and it made him want to break down crying.

Kurt nodded, his eyes glassy. "It's me," he repeated.

The breath rushed from Burt's chest, and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Kurt as solidly as he could. "I was so scared you disappeared again," he said, the words hitching in his throat.

"I was too," Kurt admitted, his whole frame shaking almost imperceptibly. His voice sounded so _small_.

Burt finally drew back, gripping Kurt by the shoulders. "We're going to do whatever we can to keep you around, okay? No more disappearing."

Kurt swallowed. "I'm so sorry, Dad," he choked out.

Burt shook his head. "No apologies," he ordered. "Just promise me that you won't disappear."

Kurt swiped at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand, nodding. "I can try."

"Good." Burt squeezed Kurt's shoulders, as though the gesture would somehow make it easier for Kurt to stay put. "Then I'll try with you."

* * *

Eleanor sat by herself on the swing set, kicking idly at the snow-covered gravel with the toe of her shoe. The metal chains were so cold they bit into her palms, but at this point Eleanor couldn't quite bring herself to care. She'd been cold for too long already; she barely noticed it anymore.

The playground had gradually become more and more lonely as time dragged on, and solitude was something she adjusted to along with the chill. Red and Schism had never been social (or even capable of human interaction) to begin with, so she didn't miss them, and Truman had been disgusting and terrifying – all she could say about him was good riddance. But she did miss Zack. She could admit that. Hell, sometimes she even missed Craig. And as for Tyler, she was starting to truly worry that he would never wake up again. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen him move.

Robbie, however, really wasn't much company at all. Eleanor had never gotten along with him, and he'd never liked her anyway, so now they tended to stick to opposite ends of the playground the majority of the time, both wasting away in their respective boredoms.

The whole situation fucking _sucked_.

But as it was, with Andy blocking their every move (well, Eleanor's every move, since Robbie refused to get involved), there was nothing Eleanor could do about it. So she sat on the swing and shivered and waited for things to change.

She was so used to the complete and utter silence that it took her an embarrassingly long time to notice that for the first time in a _long_ while, Andy had appeared in the playground. When she spotted him, he was standing several yards past the carousel, arms crossed and calmly watching the sky.

Eleanor lurched to her feet, the ice and gravel crunching underneath her shoes as she made a beeline for Robbie, who was sitting on the bench closest to the slide.

"Andy's here," she said in lieu of a greeting, sliding onto the bench next to him.

Robbie only gave her a mildly irritated glance, annoyed that she was in his personal space. "I noticed."

"So let's _do_ something," she urged.

Robbie's eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. "…Like what?"

"I don't know," Eleanor hissed, growing frustrated. "Trap him in the jungle gym with Schism. Put him in the woods. Punch him in the nuts. That's just off the top of my head."

"What good would that do?" was Robbie's dry response.

Eleanor had to restrain herself from punching Robbie in the nuts instead. Why did he have to be so fucking unhelpful?

"Getting Andy out of the way is the single best thing we can do for ourselves," she insisted, her jaw clenching.

Robbie crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "For us or for Kurt?"

"For _all_ of us. If Andy's gone, everything goes back to normal. Maybe Tyler would wake back up."

"This _is_ normal now."

Eleanor's lip curled in disgust, and she sat back. "Well, roll over and be a little bitch, why don't you?"

"I'm not a bitch," Robbie said, but judging by his tone he didn't seem all that interested in arguing with her.

"You're Andy's bitch," Eleanor countered. She rolled her eyes; she should have known she wouldn't get any help from Robbie. He was fucking useless. "Stay here," she snapped.

"Where are you going?"

Eleanor was already walking in Andy's direction. "Where do you think?"

"Why do you always have to cause problems?" Robbie called after her.

"Because you never do."

Eleanor could hear Robbie huff in annoyance as she walked away, but if he wasn't going to do anything then he didn't have a right to be pissed off. Fuck him.

"Hey, asshole!" Eleanor spat, approaching Andy from behind.

He turned around at that, his arms crossed, and frowned at her. "…Excuse me?" He spoke like a disapproving mother hen, and Eleanor wanted to rip the condescending tone right out of his throat with her fingernails.

She strode up to him and without any hesitation, punched him swiftly in the nose.

His head whipped to the side and he staggered back, catching himself on his heel as he clutched his nose. "What the _hell _was that for?!" he demanded, straightening back up to glare at her. He rubbed his nose with a wince, and Eleanor was almost too angry to notice that his breath wasn't fogging in front of his face.

"I think you know," she sneered. "You _ruined _our lives!"

Andy let out a heavy puff of air, gritting his teeth. "Eleanor, what exactly do you think I've been _doing_ this entire time?" he asked, throwing his hands out to his sides in exasperation.

"Don't know, don't particularly care."

"Then _what_ is your issue with me?"

Eleanor regarded him with a look of utter astonishment, her fingers shaking with rage. "You let everything go to shit and you have the _balls_ to ask me that?"

Andy's lip curled, his eyes flaring slightly. "Boy, have you got your wires crossed," he said lowly.

At that, Eleanor's arm snapped up to punch him a second time.

Before her fist could make contact with his cheek, however, his hand snaked around her wrist, blocking the attack and squeezing hard enough to force Eleanor to uncurl her fingers.

"Step away," he snarled, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

Eleanor didn't move, holding her ground and meeting Andy's eye with as fierce a glare as she could muster. She clenched her teeth.

His hand tightened, making her bones ache and shooting slivers of pain up through her arm. "_Step. Away,_" he repeated.

Eleanor swallowed, trying to maintain some sort of stoic veneer. But Andy's hand was crushing her wrist, and it felt like any moment it was going to break. "Y-You're hurting me," she forced out.

"Am I?" Andy asked, his grip tightening even further.

Eleanor couldn't take it anymore. She retreated, quickly pulling her arm protectively to her chest as soon as Andy released it. She rubbed her tender wrist, which now sported deep purple bruises in the clear shape of Andy's fingers and palm. She glowered at him from where she stood, not quite ready to give up the fight.

Andy jabbed a finger in her direction, drawing himself up to his full height before speaking through his teeth.

"Don't ever hit me again."


	6. A Change In The Weather

..

_A Change In The Weather_

..

Kurt's leg jiggled, his heel tapping the carpet as he chewed anxiously on the cuticle of his thumbnail, sitting in the corner of the waiting room outside Dr. Sun's office. He watched a little girl play with the toys from the basket on the other side of the room while her mother flipped through a year-old issue of _Good Housekeeping_ a few chairs away. The back of his neck prickled, and he felt someone staring at him – he looked up to see the secretary quickly avert his eyes. Kurt took his thumbnail out of his mouth and tucked his hand into the crook of his elbow, bitterly thinking that it should probably be somewhere in Steve's contract that he shouldn't stare at the patients.

Why was it taking so long? It had to have been at least twenty minutes since Kurt's appointment was supposed to have started, and Dr. Sun still hadn't come out of her office.

The sound of a door opening made Kurt's head jerk up, but rather than Dr. Sun, he saw a tall grey-haired man leaning out of the office adjacent to hers.

"Amanda?" he said, and the woman sitting with her teenaged son at the other end of the room stood, following him back into the office.

Kurt's leg restarted jiggling.

At long last, Dr. Sun's door finally opened, and she called Kurt's name. He lurched to his feet, eager to get away from the empty waiting room and Steve's prying glances.

"I'm sorry about the delay," Dr. Sun said as she closed the door behind him. "I was on the phone with another patient."

"That's fine." Kurt yanked off his coat, sinking onto the couch.

"So," Dr. Sun said, smiling as she sat back in her chair. She adjusted her cardigan, draping one leg over the other and propping her notepad on her knee. "I see you're back."

"Apparently." Kurt scratched at the back of his neck, feeling scrutinized.

"Any idea what prompted the switch?"

Kurt shook his head. "I have no idea. I did find this, though." He dug into his coat pocket to retrieve the post-it note Andy had left for him, then reached across the coffee table to hand it to Dr. Sun.

Her brow crinkled as she smoothed it in her fingers, studying it closely. "…Now, that's interesting," she said.

Kurt frowned. "What? Haven't you seen alters do things like this before?"

Dr. Sun pursed her mouth. "This is unusual, to say the least."

Kurt's stomach turned. He didn't like the idea of being any more unusual than he already was, and he wasn't comfortable with the possibility that his doctor didn't know what was going on any more than he did.

"Kurt, this… this is impressive."

He blinked, startled by her reaction. "What do you mean?"

"Do you understand the significance of this?" Sun held up the note, her eyes sparkling. Why was she excited? It was just a _post-it_.

"Um, no?"

"This indicates a controlled, intentional transition," she explained. "You came back, recognized there were some problems you weren't yet equipped to handle, and then allowed Andy to take care of everything before you came back again."

Kurt couldn't quite match her excitement. "This didn't feel at all intentional."

"I doubt it was entirely a conscious decision," Sun amended. She leaned forward to hand the note back to him. "But regardless, this is a really, really good sign."

Kurt stared at the note, not exactly ready to believe that anything his alters did was a good sign. And even if it was a good sign, a good sign of _what_? That suddenly he and his alters could all live their lives in tandem? Being separate but equal? Kurt wasn't sure he wanted that either.

"Wait, how many of the alters have you met besides Andy?" he asked.

Sun glanced out the window in thought for a moment. "Let's see, I've spoken with Robbie at least twice, and Eleanor a few times as well. I've met Tyler once." She adjusted one of the bracelets on her wrist. "That was a long time ago, though, during our first year working together. Why do you ask?"

Kurt sighed, tugging on his earlobe. "Well… when I was in high school there was a lot going on with all of… this." He made a sweeping open-palmed gesture toward his own head. "And a couple of my alters just kind of disappeared. I was wondering if they'd come back at all."

Sun cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean by 'disappeared'?"

"They were killing each other."

Whether or not this surprised or even disturbed her, Sun didn't bat an eye. "Who was killed?"

"Craig and Zack. They just… stopped. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Was there someone specific doing the killing, so to speak?"

"Truman." The name tasted bitter in Kurt's mouth.

"And you haven't seen Zack or Craig since you were a teenager?"

"As far as I know. Same goes for Truman."

Dr. Sun scribbled onto her notepad for a moment. "Does it feel like they could come back?" she asked. "Are they close to the surface?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, I can't feel them at all." His voice cracked.

Sun laced her hands together. "Do you miss them?"

"Not Truman," Kurt shuddered. "But Craig and Zack… I guess? I don't know. Kind of."

"Why?"

Kurt shrugged, avoiding her gaze.

"Kurt, you do know that the idea of alters killing each other isn't really accurate, right?" Dr. Sun asked gently. "That it has more to do with which defense mechanisms are winning out than anything else?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Kurt nodded, tugging on the cuff of his sleeve. "It just felt more violent than that."

"It usually does."

Kurt swallowed, the pit of his stomach feeling cold. "You've treated a lot of people whose alters started killing each other, then?"

Dr. Sun sighed. "It's not uncommon." She paused, clicking her pen twice before changing the subject. "Kurt, did you ever talk with your previous doctors about what you wanted to get out of therapy?"

Kurt frowned. "…Integration? Isn't that what everyone with DID wants?"

She nodded, resting her elbows on the arms of her chair. "Mostly, yes. But completely integrating is a staggering feat, and not one that's achieved without a lot of time and very hard work. Some find it easier to aim for something a little more graspable first. Baby steps, so to speak."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, which would you rather climb first? A hill or Mount Everest?"

"I know what 'baby steps' means," Kurt retorted. "I just don't know what exact steps you're talking about."

"Ah. Generally, the most important step for setting that process in motion is establishing reliable communication between yourself and the alters."

"What, are you going to hypnotize me?" Kurt asked dryly. "That's always been fun."

Dr. Sun shook her head. "I've never put much stock in using hypnosis for DID treatment. It can be a useful tool for certain issues, but in order to treat DID effectively you need to be able to recall traumatizing memories on your own, without the guidance or assistance of anyone else. Hypnosis would put that process in my control instead of yours, so I try to only use it as a last resort."

Kurt blinked in surprise. "You should give my old therapists a seminar."

Sun smiled. "Yeah, there are plenty of psychologists out there who are overly fond of hypnosis. Nothing inherently wrong with that; it's just not something that works often enough to rely on quite that heavily."

"So…" Kurt shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. This couch was far too soft. "What now?"

"Now we try to open up the lines of communication."

"Okay… how?"

"Have you ever tried to before?" Sun asked. "Talking to the alters on your own time? A journal? Anything?"

"Yeah, we did the journal thing back in high school."

"Did it help?"

Kurt opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. He didn't know what to say. "I… I'm not sure."

Dr. Sun tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to elaborate.

He took a deep breath, not sure why his heart was beating faster. "We tried, anyway. We only got Eleanor and Zack to do it, and Zack's contribution was more doodles than writing. Truman wrote in it once, but it was a threat to kill me."

"Hm," was the only thing Dr. Sun said for several seconds, pursing her mouth in thought. She clicked her pen a few more times. "Well, as scary as that might be, given that Truman is an abuser alter, a blatantly articulated threat like that is likely how communication between you and him would present. The deeper you delved and the closer you got to the root of the issue, the more Truman retaliated. I know it can be terrifying, but it's to be expected."

Kurt's heart skipped, still beating much faster than it should have been. "That doesn't make me feel better."

"I know," Sun said gently. "Listen, why don't we give the journal idea another try? Nothing major; let's just see if at least one of the alters is willing to cooperate. If not, we'll come up with some other strategies. Sound good?"

Kurt hesitated. He wasn't certain he wanted to give his alters such a direct way to threaten him or toy with him again, and he couldn't quite shrug off the prickling sensation that someone was sneaking up behind him. But he hadn't seen Truman for a _very_ long time, and if Truman was gone, what was the worst that could happen?

* * *

Robbie wasn't exactly sure when the air surrounding the playground began to change – if it had been a slow, gradual transition he simply hadn't noticed or a sudden blink-of-an-eye switch from one state to the next. The breeze had picked up for the first time in what felt like an eternity (and very well might have been), whispering through the bare branches of the nearby trees. The clouds had begun to roll away, small patches of blue sky appearing and disappearing and appearing again. But what made it all even stranger, what made Robbie's skin crawl and the hairs on his arms stand upright, was that it was _warm_. It wasn't totally quiet anymore; instead the playground was filled with the chaotic staccato of _drip-drip-drop-drip _as the icicles clinging to every surface slowly melted. The snowdrifts had begun to shrink, revealing damp dead grass, mud, and gravel.

Mingled with the pungent smells of moist earth and cold wet leaves was a faint odor of smoke, like a campfire in the distance. Robbie tried not to think too much about it. Or rather, he tried not to think about it at all.

With Andy stuck in the playground with the rest of them, it was crowded and uncomfortable, and Robbie found that he could barely sit still. Rather than just slouching on his usual bench near the slide and spending his time in an almost meditative boredom, Robbie's legs jittered and he gnawed away at his fingernails until his cuticles bled. The air passing in and out of his lungs was heavy and too humid, and he felt like he might be drowning.

As much as Robbie disliked interacting with Eleanor, he'd made it a habit to still keep an eye on her from a distance, if only for the fact that even if they despised each other they at least were stuck in the same place. Since she had confronted Andy earlier, she'd been just as agitated as Robbie, pacing the gravel on the other side of the playground and repeatedly tugging on a lock of hair behind her ear. Her wrist sported deep purple bruises from Andy's fingers, visible even from where Robbie sat.

Robbie supposed he could have backed Eleanor up in that fight – after all, he didn't like Andy any more than she did – but it just didn't make a whole lot of sense. Andy had pretty efficiently established himself as the boss, maintaining his idea of control until the rest of them had none to speak of. Robbie almost wished he could just run away to the woods like Red and stay there forever and not have to deal with any of this.

But someone had to stay here and make sure the playground didn't fall apart more than it already had.

Robbie restlessly tapped his heel against the ground and watched Eleanor pace, debating whether or not he should go over to her and see how badly her arm was really injured. On the one hand, Eleanor couldn't actually handle anything by herself. On the other hand, he really didn't want to and if he tried to help she'd probably bite his head off.

Before he could decide, Eleanor stopped her pacing, glaring over her shoulder at Andy for a few seconds, then turned on her heel and made a beeline for Robbie. Robbie tensed, sitting back on his bench with his palms braced against his knees. Whatever her issue was, he didn't understand why she couldn't just leave it the hell alone.

Eleanor didn't wait for an invitation before parking herself on the bench next to him. He bristled, edging back a few inches.

"We have to do something," she said.

Robbie rolled his eyes. "Leave it, El," he drawled. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"We can't let Andy keep doing this to us, and he's _here_ now. Who knows when we're going to have another chance?"

Robbie huffed, scowling at her. "Are you fucking crazy?"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed. "What?"

He reached out and grabbed her injured wrist, making her yelp. "You want Andy to do this again? Or worse?"

"Let go of me," Eleanor spat, yanking her arm out of his hand. "Maybe if I'd actually had some fucking _help_, Andy wouldn't have done anything."

"Oh, so it's my fault now?"

"Yes."

"Then fucking sue me."

"You're such an asshole."

"Sue me for that too."

Robbie crossed his arms and sat back, his neck feeling hot. He just wanted to be left alone, and maybe if he was mean enough Eleanor would storm off. But she didn't move. She just sat there, glowering in Andy's direction. Whether or not Andy was aware of Robbie and Eleanor's conversation, Robbie had no idea. Andy was just sitting calmly on the bench furthest away as though threatening to break Eleanor's arm was a run-of-the-mill chore that hadn't disrupted his day whatsoever.

"Do you smell smoke?" Eleanor asked abruptly.

Robbie's jaw clenched. "No."

Eleanor frowned at him. "How do you _not _smell that?"

"You're being paranoid," Robbie insisted. He just wanted her to _go away_.

"Well, you're being stupid."

"You wound me," Robbie said flatly. "Go play in the sandbox or something."

"Am I annoying you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now you know how it feels."

"Screw you."

"You wound me."

"Would you just leave me the fuck alone already?!" Robbie demanded, thoroughly exasperated.

Eleanor flinched, staring at him for a moment like she was trying to gauge exactly how serious he was. He didn't know why she might be confused, though; he was pretty sure he'd never in his life joked about anything.

"Fine," she said at last, her mouth tight. She stood and began to walk away.

Robbie watched her leave, the hairs on his neck still standing on end. He had to force himself to unclench his fingers.

Eleanor abruptly froze in her tracks, her eyes widening. "Tyler!" she shrieked. She broke into a sprint, rushing to Tyler's bench.

Robbie's brows snapped together, and he lurched to his feet. Something was off. He quickly followed Eleanor, his heart skipping as he came up behind her. She was kneeling by the bench, her hands on Tyler's shoulders.

Tyler was sitting up. His eyes were open. He clutched Raleigh to his side, shivering in his damp clothes. The snow that had fallen on top of him while he slept had melted and soaked into his skin.

"Wh-what happened?" he asked through his chattering teeth, his voice small and hoarse.

"Are you okay?" said Eleanor, squeezing his shoulder.

"I'm c-cold."

Eleanor immediately moved to sit beside him, brushing little bits of half-melted snow out of his hair with her fingers. Robbie felt sick, although he wasn't sure why. He couldn't remember the last time Tyler had even moved, let alone been awake. Months? Years?

And what the _hell_ was it supposed to mean now that he was back?

* * *

After Kurt left Dr. Sun's office, it began to snow in earnest. Big, fat, heavy flakes fell thickly from above, sticking immediately to Kurt's windshield as he drove through town, finally parking behind Finn's minivan in front of his parents' house. Finn and Dylan were building a snowman in the front yard, Dylan bundled up in layers upon layers of sweaters and coats enough to make his arms stick nearly straight out. The snowman was tiny – barely higher than Finn's knee – but Dylan didn't seem to care. He shrieked with delight when Kurt stepped out of the car, and stumbled across the yard toward him.

"Andy, come see the snowman!" he shouted, his voice muffled through the flaps of his hat, which were buttoned over his chin.

Kurt tried to ignore the way his stomach turned at the name, instead forcing himself to feign excitement as Dylan snatched his hand, dragging him back toward where Finn was standing with the snowman (or, rather, snowdwarf). "Wow, that looks amazing," he said as he followed his nephew, not _quite _able to pretend to be impressed. Bitterly, he thought he might have done a better job of it had he felt like he actually _knew_ Dylan. But Dylan wasn't much more significant to him than the average toddler Kurt might pass on the street, and Kurt kind of hated himself for that.

"How was your appointment?" Finn asked, his breath hanging in the air. A layer of snow clung to his hat, shoulders, and sleeves, making him look somewhat like a glazed pastry.

"It was fine," Kurt said tightly, tugging his fingers through his snow-damp hair. He should have brought a hat. He was all too aware of Dylan still clinging to his hand, and he wanted to shake his arm out of Dylan's grip.

Finn frowned at him. "Is that a fine-fine or a not-fine?"

"Fine-fine," Kurt answered with a shrug. "Not stellar, but not bad."

"Want to talk about it?" Finn offered.

Kurt shook his head. "No, I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Later, maybe."

Finn nodded once, accepting Kurt's assurance, but still had a shadow of worry on his face. "Alright, well, since Mom and Burt are both stuck at work tonight, we were about to make an early dinner," he said. "You hungry?"

"Yeah, definitely," Kurt replied; he hadn't eaten yet that day. "How late is Dad working tonight?" He couldn't help feeling a wave of relief when Finn reached down and hoisted Dylan up, effectively breaking Dylan's hold on Kurt's hand.

Finn hefted Dylan's weight onto his hip. "He said he'd be home by eight."

"I want breakfast," Dylan announced decisively.

"Breakfast?" Finn echoed. "It's dinnertime."

Dylan shook his head, little clumps of snow falling from the brim of his hat. "I want breakfast."

"Well, maybe we can make scrambled eggs or something."

"Want me to cook?" Kurt offered. "I don't mind."

Finn blinked in surprise. "Uh, yeah, would you? It'll give me a chance to get Dylan out of his cocoon." He tugged on the sleeve of Dylan's jacket, indicating the almost ludicrous amount of layers protecting Dylan from the cold.

"Did Hannah dress him like that?" Kurt asked as they turned to make their way inside.

"No, my mom did."

"Seriously? I never thought Carole would be the overprotective type."

"She did the same thing to me when I was Dylan's age," Finn answered, shouldering the front door open and setting Dylan on the floor by the coat rack. "She'll lighten up when he gets older."

Kurt couldn't help a small chuckle as he sidled past Finn into the kitchen area, yanking his jacket off before opening the fridge to search for an egg carton. "I honestly can't picture you at that age."

"Neither can I," Finn snorted. He set about unbuttoning Dylan's hat, pulling off his mittens, jacket, and snowpants. "I feel old."

Kurt paused at that, his hand keeping the refrigerator door propped wide open. He watched Finn and Dylan out of the corner of his eye and chewed incessantly on the inside of his cheek until bits of skin came off in his teeth. Finn's far too casual statement made the hairs on Kurt's arms and neck stand on end. His heart skipped a beat.

Kurt decided then that the word _old _was one he deeply detested.

At last, Finn managed to peel off the last of Dylan's layers and stood up to hang the discarded clothing up on the coat rack by the door. Kurt shook himself back into the present, re-focusing his attention on preparing lunch.

"Are we doing scrambled eggs for all three of us?" Kurt asked.

Finn shrugged. "I'm fine with that."

"Will Hannah want any?"

"Nah, she doesn't usually eat this early. She's taking a nap upstairs."

"Can I go get Mommy?" Dylan asked as Finn lifted him onto one of the stools at the counter island.

"No, let's let her sleep."

As Kurt went about the pleasantly simple task of whisking eggs, Finn poured himself a glass of orange juice and gave a small juice box to Dylan. "So what did you and Dr. Sun talk about?" Finn asked, taking a coloring book and a handful of crayons from the kitchen table in the corner and sliding them across the counter to Dylan.

Kurt coughed awkwardly, scratching his temple with the tip of his finger and avoiding Finn's gaze. "Uh, mostly stuff about Andy," he lied. "Trying to figure out why he took over."

Finn leaned back against the counter. "Well, I think it's pretty obvious why, isn't it?"

Kurt stopped. "What?"

"I'm just saying," Finn said. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Andy was what you needed at the time."

Kurt frowned. He turned on the stove burner, heating up a frying pan. The hairs on his neck were prickling.

Finn apparently sensed Kurt's unease, and he shrugged. "Look, Kurt," he started again, "the thing is, when Andy first showed up, your life kind of sucked. You were having a really, really hard time. And then you weren't."

The tablespoon of butter in the pan popped and bubbled, and Kurt felt sick. "So, what, you're glad Andy took over?"

"That's not what I said," Finn replied gently. "I'd take you over Andy any day. You know that, right?"

Kurt swallowed, pouring the whisked eggs into the pan. "Hard to remember sometimes."

"Andy, look!"

Kurt jumped. He'd completely forgotten Dylan was even in the room. Dylan was proudly showing off a page from his coloring book, where he had filled in the outline of an elephant with chaotic yellow scribbles.

"N-nice job," Kurt stammered, quickly turning his attention back to the stove. He could feel Finn watching him.

"So, I was thinking," Finn said after a few moments of silence. "Hannah and I have another few days before we have to head home. You want to do something before then? Just you and me?"

"Oh, um…"

"We don't have to if you don't want."

"No, no, I'd love to," Kurt amended quickly. "I just honestly forgot you were leaving soon."

Kurt abruptly felt an unhappy tugging in the pit of his stomach, like a fishhook had lodged in his lower gut. The suddenly conscious realization that Finn did not actually live here, in Lima, with Burt and Carole, sat like lead on Kurt's shoulders. He was struck by the notion that he should really be happier for Finn than he was, but in the moment he didn't feel anything other than wave of dejection followed by a sharp jolt of envy.

"What would you want to do?" Kurt asked, trying to push the rest of his thoughts to the back of his head.

Finn shrugged. "How about just going for a beer?"

Kurt paused. "Do I even drink beer?"

Finn was thrown by the question for a moment, and then he laughed out loud. "You know, I don't think you do."

Kurt wasn't sure why, but rather that making him feel even worse that there was yet another thing he didn't know about himself, the statement only made him laugh along with Finn. Perhaps it was Finn's infectious humor, or maybe just the sheer ludicrousness of the situation. Whatever the reason, it was a relief to be laughing about something.

"I mean, Andy does sometimes, but I don't think I've ever seen you drink a beer yourself," Finn said, still chuckling.

"Well, there's a first time for everything, I suppose," Kurt replied, scooping hot scrambled eggs out of the pan and onto plates for the three of them. "If I don't like it, I'll just get a margarita or something."

"It's a plan."

Kurt handed Finn a plate, then slid a second one across the counter island for Dylan, who eagerly dug in without hesitation. Kurt poured himself a glass of orange juice before starting to eat as well, standing by the counter with Finn.

"No ketchup?" Finn asked.

Kurt frowned. "Why would I have ketchup on eggs?"

Finn shrugged, his mouth half-full. "I dunno, Andy always has it. Figured you might've acquired the taste or something."

Kurt grimaced. "Ketchup on scrambled eggs? That's sacrilegious."

There was a beat of silence, then Finn looked at him with an impish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "…_Sacrilicious_," he said.

Kurt choked on his orange juice. The two of them dissolved into fits of giggles, and for a moment it felt as though nothing had changed at all. It was like no time had passed, and Kurt and Finn were still kids and somewhat new to being family. Kurt missed that. He missed having nothing to worry about besides homework and Glee competitions and who was dating whom. Well, even back then it wasn't as though Kurt hadn't needed to worry about the alters – they'd still been perching on his shoulder at every turn – but at least he'd still felt like a _kid_.

As their laughter petered out, Kurt chewed his food thoroughly, watching Dylan eat partially with his fork and partially by just grabbing fistfuls of egg and eating straight out of his hand. Kurt wondered briefly if, when Zack had still been around, he ever looked like that when he ate.

"So, have you been keeping in touch with anyone from high school?" he asked, already a little uncomfortable with the lack of conversation.

Finn nodded. "Some of them," he answered. "Rachel's done pretty well for herself; she's on TV quite a bit these days."

"TV?" Kurt echoed. "Not stage?"

"She does some stage stuff too, but I see her on TV pretty often," Finn elaborated. "Artie's in New York. And I know Santana, Brittany, and Mercedes are all out in Los Angeles, though I haven't talked to them recently enough to know what they're doing out there."

"Did everyone leave?"

Finn shook his head. "No, Puck and Sam are both still in the area. Sam's actually the football coach here at McKinley, and then Puck runs the athletic department for the high school up in Findlay."

"Hard to picture Puck running anything," Kurt joked.

Finn snorted. "Yeah, I guess so. He did really well in the military, though."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. Last he remembered, Puck had been talking about joining the Air Force, but hadn't actually signed up. "So he went through with that, huh?"

"Did two tours in Iraq," Finn said. "Probably would've done a third, but he was in a pretty bad bombing and almost lost his leg."

Kurt stopped short. "You're kidding. Is he okay?"

Finn nodded, waving a hand quickly. "Yeah, yeah, he's fine. Bit of a limp, that's all."

Swallowing the last of his food, Kurt set his plate in the sink. He leaned back against the countertop with his arms crossed, deep in thought. It was strange to imagine his old acquaintances existing anywhere other than here, close by and within reach, and it was especially difficult to imagine them doing things like filming a television show or fighting a war. He couldn't picture Puck holding a gun.

It occurred to Kurt at that point that Finn hadn't mentioned Blaine, and his stomach twisted. Whether Finn simply wasn't in touch with Blaine or he had outright avoided bringing Blaine up, Kurt didn't know. He wasn't sure he even wanted to ask.

"All done!"

Kurt was shaken back into the present by Dylan's cheerful announcement. Finn dropped his dishes into the sink and grabbed a couple paper towels off the roll, circling around the counter island to clean the bits of food off Dylan's face and hands.

"Okay, you're all good," Finn said, picking a tiny piece of scrambled egg out of Dylan's hair. "What do you say?"

"Thanks, Andy!"

Kurt flinched. "My name is Kurt," he said, not unkindly.

In the blink of an eye, the amused expression on Finn's face disappeared. "Kurt, just…" he trailed off with a slight shake of his head, gesturing for Kurt to back off.

Kurt swallowed, feeling bile rise in his throat. He waited for Finn to lift Dylan off the stool and set him on the ground, letting him run into the living room to find something to play with, before he spoke up.

"What, so I'm supposed to let him keep calling me the wrong name?" he said as soon as Dylan had left the room.

"Uh, yeah. You are."

"What—!" Kurt started to argue, but Finn swiftly cut him off.

"Dylan is three goddamn years old, Kurt," he said sharply, bracing his hands on the counter. "He's never met anyone in your head other than Andy, and even if he had, he's not old enough to understand or even pay close enough attention to tell the difference. He knows you as Andy."

Kurt stared at him in incredulity. He was startled by Finn's sudden change of mood, and by the genuinely angry tone he could now hear in Finn's voice. "But I'm not Andy," he had to say.

"I know that!" Finn hissed, keeping his voice down so that Dylan wouldn't hear him from the other room. "But I'm not going to try to sit Dylan down and explain that his uncle has split personalities, because that's just a _little_ bit beyond the grasp of a three-year-old. Okay?"

Kurt crossed his arms, his jaw clenching. "So you want me to just suck it up and be Andy?"

"For Dylan? Yes," Finn snapped. "Be an adult, Kurt."

"You're not telling me to be an adult," Kurt countered. "You're telling me to be someone else."

Finn's eyes flared, and Kurt recoiled. It sounded like Finn was trying very hard not to yell. "I am telling you to simplify things for your nephew because he's a freaking toddler and doesn't understand what's going on with you. Don't make me out to be the bad guy just because I want to protect him from that for as long as I can."

Something akin to indignant rage bubbled in Kurt's stomach, and he felt _hurt_. He knew logically that it was perfectly reasonable for Finn to prioritize Dylan, and that of _course_ Dylan wouldn't understand that Andy wasn't a real person. But Kurt hated it. He hated knowing that he really couldn't expect Dylan to adjust, and he hated how every time Dylan called him Andy it felt like a knife to the stomach. And for a moment, he almost hated Dylan.

Was it really so bad for Kurt to just want to be himself?

Kurt might have tried to argue further, but at that point, Hannah walked in from the living room. She had clearly just gotten up from her nap – her hair was rumpled and there was a pillow crease on her cheek – and she stopped short by the doorway, immediately sensing the tension in the room.

"Is… everything okay?" Hannah looked back and forth between them, waiting for one of them to explain what was going on.

Finn straightened, his jaw twitching. "Is it?" The question was directed at Kurt.

Kurt let out a heavy breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Everything's fine."

Hannah didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "…Are you sure?"

Finn finally took his gaze off Kurt, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Yeah, we're good," he told her. "How'd you sleep?"

Hannah glanced at Kurt one more time, and though she clearly wanted to press the issue, she let it go. For now, at least. She patted Finn's arm. "Would you go keep an eye on Dylan? I keep worrying he's going to get stuck behind the couch again."

Finn nodded, apparently grateful for the excuse to leave. He walked into the living room, saying nothing further to Kurt.

Nervousness tugged at the pit of Kurt's throat as Hannah turned her attention on him. He braced himself for her to ask more probing questions, but instead she only pulled her hair back into a short ponytail and picked a can of Diet Coke from the fridge.

"So," she said, cracking the can open. "How are you settling back in?"

Kurt forced himself to exhale slowly through his nose, willing the nerves in his fingertips to stop crackling like they were full of static. "Fine, I guess," he answered lamely. How was he supposed to respond to a question like that? It was only six little words, and they didn't come _anywhere _close to encompassing the situation. Kurt bitterly mused that an apt comparison would likely be calling a nuclear bomb nothing more than a firecracker.

Hannah seemed to pick up on the fact that he didn't want to elaborate, dropping the subject and instead asking if he wanted a soda as well.

Kurt realized suddenly that since coming back, this was the first time he'd actually been alone with Hannah. He was going to have to get used to the concept of having a sister-in-law. Well, sort of. In a way, the idea was already familiar. It felt natural and safe at the same time as completely jarring and discordant.

"You know that Finn loves you, right?"

Kurt blinked, shaken out of his thoughts. "What?"

Hannah nodded her head in the vague direction of the living room. "Finn," she said. "He's really, really glad you're back."

Kurt sighed, a ripple of guilt washing over him. "I know." He shouldn't have corrected Dylan. He should have just let the issue go. _Suck it up and be Andy_.

Hannah leaned her elbows on the counter island. "Can I tell you something, Kurt?"

"Sure."

"When I met Finn, you were still around," she said. "I mean, as you."

Kurt's brow furrowed, and brief snippets of memory flashed across the back of his mind. Finn coming home from college with a grin plastered to his face (_I met a girl, Kurt_), Finn posting goofy pictures on Facebook of himself with a redheaded girl, Finn shopping for a birthday present for his girlfriend…

"I remember him talking about you," Kurt realized. His heart sank. He'd known Finn had a girlfriend he was crazy about, but by the time Finn had brought her home, Kurt had already disappeared.

How was he ever going to fix this?

"Well, it meant that I was there when Finn realized you weren't coming back," Hannah continued, her chin resting on her fist. "Kurt, it took him a long time to come to terms with that. I mean… we _all_ thought you were gone."

"Sorry to disappoint," Kurt said quietly, looking away.

Hannah reached out and lightly slapped his arm with the back of her hand. "Don't say that when you know it's not true," she chided. "All I'm saying is that Finn and your parents have to adjust to this as much as you do. Give them a chance to do so."

Kurt swallowed, fighting the rock in his throat. He nodded in acceptance. He knew she was right. Slowly, he felt the anxiety crackling in his fingers and shoulders and the back of his head begin to dissipate, fended off for the time being.

Hannah patted his arm. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding a second time. He was suddenly struck by the sharp realization that Hannah was really _family_, and had to smile. "I can see why Finn married you."

She grinned back. "Really, though, if you need to talk about anything, I'm here."

"Thanks," Kurt replied. "I'll keep that in mind."

She patted his arm again, and to Kurt's shock he really did feel a bit relieved. And more importantly, he felt less alone.

* * *

Andy watched Eleanor and Robbie suspiciously from the far side of the playground, a bad feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. Tyler was _awake_, and Andy knew he should probably be at least a little bit happy about that, but the only thing he did feel was the vague sense that something was very, _very_ wrong. There was no reason Tyler should have woken back up. And with Kurt back too, everything felt off-balance and crowded. Like they were all perched on a seesaw about to tip in the wrong direction.

On the bench near the slide, Tyler sat with Raleigh held close to his chest and Eleanor by his side. She and Robbie were talking quietly (probably intentionally making it so that Andy couldn't hear them), and Andy easily could have gone over to check on Tyler, or at the very least eavesdrop. But instead, he turned and strolled idly away, letting the three of them have their space. Pushing boundaries would get him nowhere and was likely to prompt more physical altercations.

Walking over the half-dead grass past the gravel of the playground, Andy kept his arms folded over his chest. It wasn't exactly freezing any more, but the air was still cool enough to raise gooseflesh on his skin. His shoes squeaked on the wet blades of grass. Overhead, grey clouds rolled across the sky – a patch of blue opened in the distance for a few moments before being swallowed back up. The breeze ghosted through the trees lining the edge of the field, rustling the still-bare branches.

Andy was paying no attention to the ground, and so was startled when his foot caught on a ridge of soil, and he stumbled, nearly crashing headfirst into the dirt. Catching his balance, he knelt to see what he'd tripped on.

There was a small tear in the ground, only a few feet long, as though the earth on either side of it had been pulled in opposite directions. Andy coughed and covered his nose with his sleeve – the hole smelled like smoke.

Andy reached down and felt the soil along the edge of the hole, trying to ascertain if it one of the alters had been digging for some reason, but there were no smooth grooves left by tools.

There was a small, almost inaudible groan from beneath the surface of the ground, and Andy jumped back as the hole suddenly ripped further open. The edges of the trench split further in both directions, growing from just a few feet to nearly ten in half a second.

Andy's heart raced, the stench of smoke clogging his senses. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He'd been right – something was _very _wrong. This couldn't be good.

And above everything else, Andy couldn't shake the premonition that something was coming.


	7. You Must Remember This

_.._

_You Must Remember This_

_.._

"Well?"

Eleanor stared at the ground with her arms crossed, flanked by Robbie and Tyler, all three of them frowning at the hole Andy had dragged them over to see. Andy was watching them expectantly, like he was waiting for some kind of outrage. Frankly, Eleanor wouldn't put it past Andy to just be pissed that someone had ruined his lawn.

"What is it?" Tyler asked, clutching Raleigh in one hand while hugging close to Eleanor's side.

"It's… a hole," Eleanor said dryly, wrinkling her nose at Andy.

"Is this supposed to be scary?" asked Robbie.

Andy suddenly looked like he was ready to strangle all three of them. "It came out of _nowhere_," he insisted, as though he was the only one who understood why a hole in the dirt was anything worth fussing over.

"Don't talk to us like we're stupid," Eleanor snapped.

"The ground was _moving_, Eleanor!" Andy cried, gesturing frustratedly at the hole. "It ripped apart and now this thing is ten feet long!"

Eleanor shrugged pointedly, although the back of her neck was prickling. "Earthquakes happen."

"Not _here_."

"Did someone dig it?" suggested Tyler, tucking Raleigh into the crook of his arm.

"Unless one of you is messing with me, no."

Eleanor had to smirk at that. "That could very well be the case," she said savagely.

Andy glared.

"Shut up, El," Robbie said, though it seemed almost like an afterthought rather than an order. He was still frowning at the hole.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Okay, so it's a hole. What are you going to do about it?"

Andy's brows pulled together as he glowered at her. "This doesn't worry you at all, does it?"

"I'm more in the enjoying-the-fact-that-you're-worried stage."

Andy shook his head, flapping at hand dismissively at her. "You know what, forget it."

"I'm just saying," Eleanor continued. "If you want to keep us all under your thumb like Kim Jong Il, then don't expect us to jump up and help you out."

"Hey, everything I've done for us over the last ten years has been necessary, okay?" Andy argued, drawing himself up to his full height. "So don't come after me with that crap. Keeping you here isn't comparable to genocide."

"Says the dictator."

Robbie finally interjected then, spitting, "Would you both just shut the fuck up? Jesus." He paused to study the hole for another couple of seconds, then shrugged. "As far as I can see, this isn't something to freak out over. So until it is, I say we leave it alone."

Andy huffed, shaking his head. "Have it your way."

"Whatever, Adolf," Eleanor sneered. She raised her arm in a mock Nazi salute. "_Heil!_"

Without waiting for Andy to retort, Eleanor turned on her heel and began to stride back towards the playground. Tyler trotted after her, and Robbie hesitantly followed them both.

As soon as Andy was out of earshot, Eleanor turned to Robbie. "So what do you think?"

Robbie raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand, her eyes flaring. "Quit fucking around."

"Eleanor, I already said what I thought," Robbie snapped with a roll of his eyes. "Weren't you listening? Or were you more focused on poking Andy's buttons?"

"I can multi-task," she spat. "You can't seriously think that that was nothing."

Robbie finally stopped walking, halting in his tracks suddenly enough to make Tyler bump into him. "For fuck's sake! It's a goddamn hole in the ground! What the fuck do you expect me to do about it?! What do _you_ expect to do about it?!"

Tyler flinched at the abrupt increase in volume, quickly stepping away from Robbie in order to cling to Eleanor's arm. He squeezed Raleigh to his chest, staring at the muddy ground.

Eleanor curled her lip, squaring her shoulders. "You want to stick your head in the sand and pretend like nothing's changing around here? Fine," she seethed. "Just remember – the last time you did that, Craig got burned alive."

Robbie's jaw twitched. "Truman isn't here anymore."

"Neither was Kurt, but that didn't stop him."

"Truman's not coming back," Robbie insisted.

Eleanor swallowed, and for a moment the anger in her eyes subsided, replaced by sheer terror. "Keep telling yourself that," she said.

Robbie had no response, and so Eleanor only wrapped an arm around Tyler's shoulders walked away, leaving Robbie standing where he was. Eleanor and Tyler stepped back onto the gravel of the playground as a warm breeze blew past. The banks of snow had nearly all vanished now, leaving large puddles scattered around the playground and water dripping from the merry-go-round and the swing set.

And hovering over the playground, penetrating the air like an oncoming thunderstorm, was the unmistakable stench of smoke.

* * *

Kurt's morning was spent alone in his apartment, lazily preparing breakfast and completing a few minor household chores that had been left by the wayside over the last several days. Part of him took pleasure in having some time to himself and handling small responsibilities at his own pace, but at the same time he wanted to avoid seeing his family. Well… just Finn, really. Their argument from yesterday still hung heavily on Kurt's shoulders, and while he could understand why Finn had blown up at him, he wasn't sure Finn was ready to see him again. And for that matter, he wasn't sure he wanted to see Finn, either.

So instead, he relaxed. Having cleaned the kitchen and put a fresh load of laundry in the washer, Kurt carried a bowl of granola and yogurt to the living room couch. He plopped down and grabbed his laptop from where it sat on the coffee table. Propping his feet up, he settled back to idly surf the internet while he ate.

For a little while, he just read a few news articles (the upcoming year's presidential debate seemed to be the main topic occupying everyone's minds) but after a time, an idea suddenly occurred to him. He sat up straighter, setting his bowl back on the coffee table, and pulled up the homepage for Google.

_Andy Hummel_, he typed.

Nothing really came up in the search – a few mentions of other people around the world that happened to have the name, but nothing relating to Lima or Kurt himself.

Kurt frowned, then put in a new search. _Kurt Hummel_.

Immediately, dozens of articles came up. Film critic sites, a LinkedIn profile, and newspaper links to at least five different papers. The Columbus Dispatch, the Chicago Times, the Cincinnati Sun, and even one for the New York Times. Andy had been working under Kurt's name.

Kurt supposed that was considerate.

There was page after page after page of reviews and critiques for movies, stage productions, and even music on occasion. Most of it was only vaguely familiar at best. He snatched his glasses from the coffee table and read through a few of the articles, hoping that at least one of them would jog his memory. Almost immediately, his palms began to itch and he felt nausea grip his stomach.

He managed to get through reviews on three movies he didn't recognize and an album by a band he'd never heard of, but when he reached a column published on the subject of a Chicago-based revival of _Wicked_, Kurt had to stop. He felt dizzy. The writing was good and in any other circumstance, he would have thought the reviews genuinely entertaining. But as it was, given that _he_ had written them and couldn't remember doing so, he only found them unnerving at best.

Instead, he shut off his computer and resigned to bitterly finish his breakfast without any reading material whatsoever.

Just as he swallowed the last of his food and went to go rinse the bowl in the kitchen, his phone dinged cheerfully in his pocket. A text had come in, again from the unknown _Mitchell Seville_.

_Hey, you up for coffee? _was all it said.

Kurt huffed in annoyance. Why couldn't these people leave him alone? He shoved his phone back into his pocket, irritatedly dropping his bowl into the sink and running the tap to rinse it out. Why was it so difficult to just have some time to himself without being reminded every few minutes of how much he'd lost?

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to soothe his nerves, he shut off the faucet and braced his arms against the counter.

It was too quiet in this apartment.

Kurt straightened up, rubbing a hand over his face and combing his fingers through his hair. The back of his neck prickled. Why did he feel like Andy was still controlling him?

Kurt let out another breath, then grabbed his keys and wallet from the counter and his coat from the hook in the hall. Maybe getting out of an environment that felt like it belonged more to Andy than it did to him would lessen the dizzying sensation of being manipulated.

As Kurt let his door slam shut behind him and descended the stairs in the hall, he was greeted by a woman who was unlocking the door to the first floor apartment.

"Hey, Andy!" she said. "How goes it?"

Kurt choked, almost tripping on the last step down. "U-Uh, fine," he managed to get out before brushing past her and quickly exiting the front door. He ignored the strange look she gave him as he went by, walking a little faster than was probably necessary to the curb where his car was parked.

Driving away from his building, Kurt felt his muscles unclench and his nerves cool, slowly replaced by a cold and hollow anger. This was ridiculous. There was no real reason he shouldn't feel at home in his own damn apartment. There was no reason why he shouldn't feel at home in his own damn life.

With a start he realized that he'd forgotten to take his antidepressant that morning, and he grew even more frustrated with himself. He wasn't willing to backtrack for a little pill, however, so he continued aimlessly driving. At the very least, he might be able to get a couple of errands done – grocery shopping and the like. Focusing on menial tasks might force his pent-up energy somewhere productive.

He made a left at the next stoplight and headed towards the center of town. Maybe he could grab a latte before stopping by the supermarket. He definitely deserved some caffeine. His frustration bubbled up again a few minutes later when he realized that the Lima Bean had either closed or moved locations and it was now a Five Guys burger joint. He pulled a U-turn and drove toward the town square, where he was fairly sure he'd seen a new café on the corner. He wished that all of his old familiar haunts were back in their rightful places.

He spotted the new café – Java Joe's – on the corner of West Market Street and South Main, parking his car at the curb across the road and dumping a few quarters into the meter. The frigid air filled his lungs and made him feel abruptly cleansed. Perhaps all he'd really needed was a walk and a breath of fresh air?

Still, caffeine wouldn't hurt.

Kurt hunched his shoulders against the cold, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets as he crossed the icy sidewalk. The town square was unusually crowded today, the blocks full of people taking advantage of the weekend and the sunny weather to shop and hang out downtown, and Kurt had to wait for a small group of teenagers to pass before he could shoulder through the door to Java Joe's. The bell tinkled shrilly overhead as he entered.

Inside, the café was busy and loud, almost all of the tables occupied. Kurt stood in the back of the line, idly people-watching as the queue gradually inched forward. He felt comfortable here despite the bustle and the noise, and he wondered if Andy routinely came here to work whenever he tired of the apartment. The café certainly felt familiar enough, and the constant din was calming – a much-needed contrast from the silence of his apartment.

Two women sitting near the window abruptly burst into laughter, amused by something in their private conversation enough to make Kurt turn his head. He glanced in their direction for just long enough to see the young man at the adjacent table look up and smile at him. Kurt smiled politely back, and then returned his attention to the menu above the counter.

He was in the middle of choosing between a peppermint or mocha latte when someone spoke behind him.

"Hey, you! You got here quick."

Kurt turned around again, realizing two things in the span of about half a second. One, that the man who had smiled at Kurt from the window had walked over and was now talking directly to him. And two, he was leaning in for a kiss.

Kurt's reflexes kicked in, and he ducked, jerking back out of the man's immediate reach.

The man blinked, faltering. His smile vanished. "O-Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he stuttered, taking a quick step back. "I – I just thought, since we'd been out on a few dates already… I – I don't know—"

Kurt stared at him, still in shock. "…Dates," he echoed. He was rooted to the spot and unable to coherently respond – how _was_ he supposed to respond to this anyway?

"W-Well, yeah," said the man, awkwardly scratching his forehead. "I mean, I thought things were going pretty well."

Kurt couldn't stop staring. The stranger was a bit shorter than he was, with cleanly cut dark hair and average looks. A bit of a frat boy vibe, but ultimately non-threatening, so Kurt tried to force himself to calm down. But he could feel adrenaline coursing through his chest and every nerve in his body was urging him to bolt. This man didn't look familiar in the slightest.

The stranger was still flustered and apologizing. "I just thought— Although, now that I think about it, you didn't respond to my last couple of texts…" He pressed his palm to his forehead in embarrassment. "_Crap_, I'm so sorry, I should've picked up on that. This is totally—"

Comprehension abruptly dawned on Kurt, and the bottom of his stomach dropped. "…You're Mitchell," he said.

Mitchell's face fell. He looked something like a scolded golden retriever. "Wow, tell me how you really feel," he said with an awkward, hurt laugh.

"Have we slept together?" Kurt blurted out, his heart racing and his neck burning hot.

Mitchell blanched, anger flitting across his face. "Is that a joke? Andy, it was _your_ idea that we take things slow. What is wrong with you?"

Kurt felt his ears flush bright red. He was suddenly acutely aware of the several café patrons who had stopped their own conversations in favor of watching the small commotion. The two women who had been laughing earlier were now staring openly at Kurt and Mitchell.

"Can we talk about this outside?" Kurt asked desperately, the urge to run now multiplied tenfold.

"Fine," Mitchell huffed, letting his hands hang inside the pockets of his black jacket. "Sure. Whatever you want."

Kurt quickly strode towards the door, Mitchell following him out to the sidewalk. Even in the sudden January chill, Kurt's face remained mortifyingly hot. Mitchell's ears were red too, although Kurt couldn't tell whether it was from anger or just humiliation.

"I – I can explain," Kurt started, drawing in a deep breath.

Mitchell clamped his jaw shut, folding his arms across his chest. "This ought to be good."

"It's just – it's _complicated_," Kurt tried. He was floundering, he knew – frantically scrambling to formulate an explanation that wouldn't sound made up. On the one hand, Kurt had a very good excuse for not recognizing this person, and on the other hand, that excuse would sound absolutely nonsensical to anybody who hadn't known him long enough. "I, um… I'm sick, and—"

Mitchell cut him off with a shake of his head and a flap of his hand. "Okay, you know what?" he said disgustedly. "There are easier and classier ways to do this. If you want to call it quits, just say so, but this 'amnesia' crap you're trying to pull is bullshit."

Kurt pressed his lips together, utterly at a loss. Whatever he tried to say was going to sound like a cheap lie. Guilt seized him by the throat, and he wanted so badly to explain everything and make Mitchell understand. Although, he wasn't sure _why_ he wanted that since Mitchell was after all still a stranger to him… But Mitchell seemed like a genuinely good person, and Kurt found himself wanting to backtrack and somehow make it so that Mitchell wasn't so upset.

Mitchell was watching him expectantly, waiting for Kurt to say something.

But Kurt had only drawn a blank.

Mitchell shook his head, still looking more disgusted than anything else. "Yeah, whatever, man," he said, turning to go back inside.

"Wait—" Kurt started.

Mitchell stopped, his jaw rigid. He was reluctant to make eye contact. "What?"

"I just…" Kurt struggled to get the words out, pulling his fingers self-consciously through his hair. "I really am sick," he said.

Mitchell's mouth tightened. "Yeah, I'll say."

With that last cutting remark, Mitchell turned on his heel and strode back into the café, the door swinging shut behind him with an inconsiderately cheerful tinkling of the overhead bell.

* * *

One of Finn's favorite things about being on vacation from work was spending time with his family – and yes, that might have been clichéd, but it was true. Mainly, what Finn loved about it was being able to spend time with Hannah and Dylan when they weren't stuck to any sort of schedule. During the school year, their free time was mostly dictated by Hannah's classes, Finn's student appointments and meetings, and Dylan's daycare, and all of this domesticity was almost to the point of boredom. So, the school breaks made for a more than welcome change of pace.

At this particular moment, it was really, _really_ nice giving Dylan a bath right after lunchtime rather than just before bed, when Finn and Hannah would both be so exhausted from work that they could barely keep their eyes open.

Finn knelt on the bathmat next to the tub, shampooing Dylan's hair while Dylan played with a plastic toy boat, making engine sounds and sailing it back and forth in the bathwater. He yelped when a fleck of shampoo ran into his eye.

"Oops, sorry, bud," Finn said, running a damp washcloth over Dylan's face.

The bathroom door opened and Hannah came in, sitting on the closed toilet by Finn's elbow. She squeezed his shoulder as she sat down, greeting Dylan with a sunny "How's the bath going, Dyl?"

Dylan rubbed at his eye with a soapy hand. "Got shampoo'n my eye," he said.

Finn gently pushed Dylan's fist down. "Hey, don't rub at it. That'll make it worse." He began to rinse out Dylan's hair, speaking to Hannah over his shoulder. "What's up?"

"Have you heard from Kurt?" she asked.

Finn shook his head, keeping his attention focused on his son.

Hannah didn't say anything for several seconds, but Finn could feel her watching him. He suddenly wanted her to leave.

"Burt hasn't heard from him all day either," she said at last. "He's starting to get worried."

"It's Burt's job to worry about Kurt," Finn said, perhaps a little bit bitter. "I'm sure everything's fine."

"Finn."

"What?" Finn finally met her gaze, and wished he hadn't. She was looking at him with an expression he didn't like – somewhere in the middle of mild shock and disappointment.

Hannah's lips tightened almost imperceptibly for a moment. "Are you really going to give him the silent treatment?"

"Hannah," Finn said in annoyance, turning back to continue washing Dylan's hair. "Kurt is an adult. He can take care of himself."

"You know perfectly well that's not the issue here, Finn."

"Can we have this conversation later?"

Hannah straightened at that, her shoulders setting back. "No, we can have it now. The only one making it difficult is you."

Finn swallowed, his teeth clenching. "I'm not trying to make anything difficult."

Hannah softened at that, patting his shoulder again. "Babe, I know that this is a tough situation for everybody, all right? Don't think I'm not in your corner."

He sighed, pausing Dylan's bath. He reached up to wrap his hand around Hannah's fingers, squeezing slightly before giving a kiss to her knuckles. "I know. Thanks."

Hannah smiled, drying her hand on her jeans once he let go. "Finn, it's just not a good habit to let things sit. You need to talk to him as soon as you can. Smooth things over."

Finn exhaled heavily, knowing that she was right. At least, to an extent. But his stomach felt like it was filled with lead, and his shoulders were tight and it seemed like after ten years they were all back to square one. And Finn didn't know how to cope with that – or even if he could.

"Put yourself in his shoes," Hannah continued. "Can't you sympathize with how completely disoriented he must be? You know it's not his fault."

"Of course I know it's not his fault," Finn said. "He doesn't control the transitions; I get that just as much as anyone."

"I actually meant that it's not his fault if he has a hard time adjusting," Hannah corrected him, not unkindly. "He's allowed to be a human being."

Finn was quiet again for a minute.

Hannah got down to kneel on the bathmat beside him then, wrapping her arm around his upper back and resting her chin on his shoulder. "And, you know, you're allowed to be a human being too. You don't have to be infallible."

Finn swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. He released another heavy breath, feeling just a little bit lighter, and leaned his head against hers. "Thank you," he said softly.

Hannah shifted to plant a kiss on Finn's temple. "Everything's going to be okay."

* * *

As late morning gradually shifted into mid-afternoon, the winter sun swinging quickly toward the sky over western Lima, and Kurt took his time finishing the few errands he managed to come up with (mainly so he could avoid going home to his empty, quiet apartment). His stomach still in knots even several hours after the encounter with Mitchell, Kurt parked his car at the curb in front of his parents' house and made his way up the walkway to the front door. Pausing in awkward hesitation before walking inside, he decided instead to knock. Maybe it was just that he was looking for an excuse to still not spend time at his own place, but he somehow felt like he shouldn't be here.

The door swung open a few moments later. "Oh, hey, sweetie," said Carole in surprise. "You know you don't have to knock; you can just come in."

Kurt shrugged as he followed her in to the kitchen. "Feels weird," he said as he peeled off his coat and hung it next to Dylan's miniature parka on the rack.

"Well, this is as much your home as ours, so it's weirder if you knock." Carole winked at him.

Kurt had to relax a bit at her jest. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied.

"I was just making tea. You want some?"

Kurt accepted the offer, sitting on a stool at the counter as Carole filled the electric kettle.

"So what's up?" she asked conversationally. "How are you feeling?"

"Still pretty out of place," Kurt answered. "But I'm okay."

"I think that's to be expected. It'll take a little time to get used to being back."

"Yeah, I know," Kurt said, and he couldn't help sounding dejected.

"Anything else going on?" Carole probed gently.

Kurt swallowed, trying to decide in half a second whether he wanted to talk about what had happened at Java Joe's. His stomach twisted tighter. He finally settled on the notion that being nearly kissed by a total stranger (who was apparently not even supposed to _be _a stranger) was a little too heavy a topic to discuss over a cup of tea. Plus, he'd barely processed it himself.

"No, not really."

Carole frowned at him, seeming to pick up on his reluctance to share, but her attention was diverted by the kettle whistling on the counter. She turned around to fill two coffee mugs, then handed one to Kurt. "Well, you know we're all here for you. Anything you need."

"Thanks," Kurt said, turning the mug in his hands and letting it warm his palms. He sat up a bit straighter, changing the topic. "Where is everyone?"

Carole sipped her tea. "Finn's upstairs giving Dylan a bath. Your dad's at work, but he should actually be on his way home now," she said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Kurt fell quiet, unable to keep his shoulders from tensing slightly.

Carole, ever attentive, didn't miss it. "You okay?" she prompted.

"Yeah…" he said softly, not quite meeting her eye.

"You having a hard time with Dylan and Hannah?"

"Among other things," Kurt admitted.

Carole leaned against the counter island across from him, propping herself on her elbows. "I know it feels strange, but they're your family, Kurt. They're on your side."

"I don't even _know_ them," Kurt had to say. His chest ached.

"Kurt, you just have to trust me on this," Carole said. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "Hannah supports you just as much as we do, and Dylan _loves_ you. This family might be a little bigger than it was the last time you really felt like yourself, but that doesn't mean you're not a part of it anymore."

"Aren't I a little old for the 'we still love you' speech?" Kurt asked, only half joking.

Carole patted his forearm consolingly. "You're never too old for it." She took a sip of her tea. "Look, if you feel like you don't really have a connection with Hannah and Dylan, then maybe you should get to know them. Spend some time with them. Put in the effort."

"You think it's as simple as that?"

"Absolutely, I do," Carole nodded. "Kurt, even if you weren't dealing with all this stuff, it would still be just as important for you to have a good relationship with them. Hannah is your sister-in-law, and Dylan's your nephew. You should get used to that concept, because they're not going anywhere."

Kurt didn't say anything, staring into his mug. His shoulders were heavy, but somehow… he felt a little better.

"Is that scary?" Carole asked.

"No," he shook his head. "No, it's a relief."

Carole smiled. "Good."

The front door opened then, and Burt walked in stomping snow from his boots. "Hey," he greeted them, shrugging off his puffy jacket to hang it on the rack next to Carole's pea coat.

"Hey, Dad."

Burt smiled, clapping Kurt on the shoulder. "Man, I am never going to get tired of hearing that," he said. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good," Kurt replied.

"Yeah?"

Kurt nodded, somewhat surprised at his own honest answer. "Yeah, I'm good."

"No disappearing?"

"Nope."

"Good."

As Burt circled around the counter to give Carole a kiss and get a glass of orange juice from the fridge, Dylan tottered into the room. His hair was rumpled and damp from the bath and he was clutching his stuffed zebra in the crook of his arm.

Almost immediately, Kurt tensed again. Burt frowned at him, noticing the slight movement, but turned his attention quickly to his grandson.

"Hi, buddy!" Burt said, setting his drink on the counter in order to hoist Dylan up with both hands, hefting him onto his hip. "Did you have a good bath?"

Dylan nodded through another yawn. "I want to play outside."

"I think that's a good idea," Burt agreed, patting Dylan's stomach. "You know what, though? I bet if we go play at the park, then Grandma will make us some hot chocolate when we get back."

Dylan lit up at that, nodding enthusiastically.

Kurt watched Dylan with an expression somewhere between sorrow and jealousy, the mug of tea in his hands all but forgotten.

Carole caught him staring, and he looked away, taking what he hoped was an inconspicuous sip from his cup.

"I think Uncle Andy would love to go with you, too," Carole said to Dylan with a pointed glance at Kurt.

Kurt's heart stopped.

"Yeah!" said Dylan, excitedly turning to grin at him.

Kurt looked to Carole in a brief moment of panic, the pit of his stomach ice cold.

Carole gave him an encouraging nod. "Go on, have fun," she urged.

Kurt swallowed. There was no way he could avoid this forever. "Uh, yeah," he forced out. "Sure."

* * *

The playground was quiet when they arrived, with no other people milling about other than a couple walking their dog along the paths crisscrossing the park. Dylan let go of Burt's hand to run ahead, making a beeline for the snow-covered slide while Burt and Kurt sat on the nearest bench.

"So how are you feeling?" Burt asked. Kurt hadn't said anything on the ride over, which was worrisome.

Kurt visibly tensed, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. He didn't look at Burt when he answered. "I haven't had any more transitions, Dad," he said, sounding annoyed and a little tired.

"I know, that's not what I meant," Burt replied gently, careful not to react to Kurt's sudden defensiveness. "How are _you_ doing? You still feeling overwhelmed?"

Kurt appeared to relax a bit at that, and he leaned back against the bench. "Yes and no, I guess," he said, letting out a heavy breath that fogged in front of his nose. "I'm getting there, but mostly I try not to think about it too much."

"That's understandable."

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, watching Dylan play in the snow. Burt watched Kurt out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge what was going on in his head without making Kurt feel scrutinized. Kurt's face was hard to read, though, and Burt was left without answers.

Kurt frowned suddenly, looking around the park like he was searching for something specific.

"What's up?"

Kurt didn't respond immediately, appearing deep in thought. "…Have I been here before?" he asked after a moment.

Burt blinked, surprised by the question. "Um, well, not recently," he said. "Your mom used to bring you here all the time when you were a kid."

"Have any of the alters come here?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

Kurt shook his head. "Never mind," he said, although he still appeared slightly perplexed. "I think I'm just kind of flashing back to when Mom and I would come here. Feels like déjà vu."

Burt smiled. "Well, this was really your go-to place. You and your mom would come here practically every day if you didn't have school."

"Why did we stop coming?"

Burt rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, watching Dylan climbing up the platforms. "I tried to get you to come here a few times after she died," he explained, feeling a pang of grief stab through his chest. "You were dead set against it. You screamed and cried every time I tried to bring you, and eventually I figured it was better to not force you. We didn't start coming back until after Dylan was born."

Kurt was quiet, seeming deep in thought again.

Dylan clumsily went down the slide, landing in the snow with an audible "Oof!"

"You know, his birthday's coming up," Burt remarked. "He's turning four next month."

Again, Kurt said nothing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Kurt replied softly, sounding more _sad_ than anything else.

Burt reached over to squeeze Kurt's shoulder. "Hey. What's going on?"

Kurt scratched his temple with his forefinger, not quite meeting Burt's eye. "It's just that… I don't know. I shouldn't have to be reminded of all this stuff. I should know already."

A heavy silence fell over them while Burt struggled to form a comforting response, but after a few moments, Kurt spoke.

"I'm really sorry, Dad. I'm sorry I was gone for so long." His voice cracked ever so slightly.

"Kurt, you have nothing to apologize for," Burt insisted, gripping Kurt's shoulder tightly. "Okay? You don't."

Kurt was silent again, watching Dylan play in the snow. His face was unreadable, and somehow that was terrifying.

"Talk to me," Burt urged. "What's going through your head?"

Kurt sighed. "Just a long day, I guess."

Burt let go of Kurt's shoulder, letting his elbow rest on the back of the bench. "Something happen?"

Kurt's mouth tightened for a moment, and he glanced up at the clouds coasting by overhead. "Dad, did Andy ever mention someone named Mitchell?"

Burt blinked. "Uh… no. Why?"

"Apparently he's Andy's boyfriend."

Burt's eyes widened, his heart skipping. "Andy has a boyfriend?"

"Well, potential boyfriend," Kurt amended quickly. "Mitchell said we'd been on a few dates."

"You talked to him?"

"Ran into him downtown. He didn't know it was me."

"Did you tell him?"

Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheeks. "He didn't really give me the chance. I don't think Andy ever actually explained the whole DID situation."

Burt let out a breath, attempting to slow his heartbeat. The idea of Andy dating anyone wouldn't have been so worrisome if Kurt hadn't returned, but now there were a number of different possible outcomes, and not many of them were good. Still, if Mitchell didn't know anything about Kurt's condition, then at least it meant they weren't so involved that it couldn't be handled.

"Is that why you've been having a bad day?" Burt asked.

Kurt shrugged. "You know, it never even occurred to me that the alters might want to be a part of something like that."

"Like what?"

"Dating."

Burt shook his head, his shoulders feeling heavy. "Andy was around for so long, it honestly doesn't surprise me."

Kurt's brow furrowed, and his gaze swiveled around to meet Burt's. "Really?"

"Well, yeah," Burt said hesitantly. He scratched at the back of his neck, not entirely sure of how to phrase this. "I mean… it's not like Andy exists in a vacuum. He's not completely independent from you, and if you were off the dating scene for so long, and you were watching Finn get married and have a family…" Burt trailed off for a moment, just hoping that what he was saying wouldn't somehow make Kurt feel even more like he didn't belong.

Kurt was still watching him expectantly.

"It just kind of makes sense that you'd try to find that too," Burt finished. "Even if it was through Andy."

Kurt swallowed, letting out a long, shaky breath. "I guess," he said quietly.

"Was this Mitchell guy at least a nice person?"

"I think so." Kurt bit his lip, watching Dylan pushing snow into a small pile to make a miniature snowman. "Honestly, he seemed more hurt than anything else."

Burt didn't speak for a few minutes, instead watching the clouds float by overhead. This wasn't an issue they had ever encountered before, and – to Burt's knowledge, at least – Mitchell was the only boyfriend Andy had ever had. Although, now that he thought about it, Andy really wasn't very likely to share it if he _had _dated anyone in the past. That made Burt nervous at best.

"Look, Kurt—" he started again, intending to offer some speech of comfort and reassurance, but Kurt cut him off.

"Dad, I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Okay." Burt chewed the insides of his cheeks for a moment, letting the frigid January air fill his lungs. "But listen to me for a second," he continued a moment later. "All you really need to worry about right now is yourself, okay? We're all with you. And however nice this Mitchell guy might've been, he's not part of our family. I don't want you to lose any sleep over him."

Kurt swallowed, nodding slightly. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees. "You're right. I just feel bad, though."

"I know. It's 'cause you're a good person and you have a big heart," Burt said. "But… there's things you can control and there's things you can't, and it's up to you to decide what's worth preserving."

Kurt paused, taking it in. "Thanks, Dad."

Burt smiled then, patting Kurt's back. "Now, how about you go play with your nephew?"

Kurt didn't move immediately, instead just watching Dylan with nothing but apprehension. For a moment, Burt thought Kurt might not feel able to do anything but stay on the bench, but after drawing a deep breath and briefly clenching his fists by his sides, Kurt stood up.

"Go on, I'll be right here," Burt encouraged him.

Kurt took another deep breath, then walked off the shoveled path and into the inches-deep snow. His footsteps crunched as he approached Dylan, who was intently focused on pushing a mound of snow together barely a foot high.

"What are you doing?" Burt heard Kurt ask.

"Building a snowman," Dylan replied without looking up.

"Can I help?"

"Yeah!"

Burt abruptly felt a tidal wave of relief wash over him as Kurt knelt in the snow, actively engaging with Dylan for the first time. He watched Kurt nervously participate in Dylan's play, helping to roll a ball of snow together for the snowman's head, and finally allow Dylan to get close to him.

Burt didn't have the slightest inkling of what was on the horizon for Kurt or for their family as a whole, but at last he was able to grasp onto a vague sensation of hope. For all he knew, all of this was about to come crashing down on their heads and Kurt would disappear again, but for now? Here, in the quiet snow-covered park, this was all that seemed to matter.

Maybe everything really would be okay. If not today, then tomorrow.

* * *

When Burt and Kurt returned home, the sun was beginning to set, swimming low and red behind the nearby trees, and Finn was outside shoveling the driveway. Kurt tensed slightly as Burt parked the car. This was the first time he'd seen Finn since their argument yesterday, and Kurt was honestly unsure of whether Finn would even want to see him.

But as Kurt stepped out of the car, Finn waved and smiled, leaning his shovel against the porch railing to come and greet them. Burt opened the rear door and unstrapped Dylan from his car seat, hefting him out and setting him on the ground. Dylan immediately ran around the nose of the car and ran to Finn.

"Dad!"

"Hey, buddy!" Finn said as Dylan wrapped his arms around his leg. "How was the park?"

"Andy and me made a snowman."

Finn's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he glanced at Kurt.

Kurt nodded, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, feeling a bit scrutinized. Perhaps he'd been exuding his discomfort with being around Dylan a little more publicly than he'd thought.

Finn patted the top of Dylan's head. "Why don't you head inside? I think Grandma said she'd make you some hot chocolate."

At that, Dylan immediately whirled around, nearly losing his footing on the icy path, and ran up to the house.

"I'd better go open the door for him," Burt said, following his grandson up onto the porch.

"So the park was good?" Finn prompted, his breath fogging and glowing pink in the evening sunlight.

Kurt nodded again, uncertain even now of whether Finn was still mad at him. "Yeah, it was fun."

Finn smiled. "Good," he said. "So, um… how about you and I go grab that drink?"

Kurt blinked, shocked that Finn's offer from yesterday still stood. Were they suddenly past the fight? Or was Finn attempting an apology?

"Uh, yeah," Kurt answered. "Yeah, that'd be good."

"Great, give me twenty minutes to finish shoveling and we can head over to the Alibi."

"Okay."

Kurt left Finn to his work and went inside, the back of his neck prickling slightly. He hated this feeling of not knowing where he stood with Finn. Walking on eggshells never led to anything good, but for now Kurt could only wait.

In the kitchen, Carole offered him a cup of hot chocolate, which he turned down. He sat next to Dylan and Hannah at the counter island, chatting while the sky outside darkened from reddish pink to violet.

Eventually, Finn leaned in from the front door. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, hopping off the stool and re-buttoning the coat he hadn't bothered to take off.

"Have fun!" Hannah called as Kurt followed Finn back out into the cold.

They got into Kurt's Subaru and as Kurt drove away from the curb, a pregnant silence filled the car. Kurt awkwardly kept his eyes on the road ahead, feeling like Finn was watching him despite the fact that Finn was just looking out the window. At the very least, it seemed like Finn was waiting for Kurt to say something. But Kurt only drew a blank.

"You okay?" Finn prompted after a few minutes.

"Yeah, I guess," Kurt replied. He hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment. "It's just, you know, last time we talked you were yelling at me."

Finn sighed, shifting in the passenger seat. "I wasn't _yelling_," he said quietly.

"You were pretty pissed off."

"Well, yeah," Finn said, propping his elbow against the car door. "Dylan's my kid, and you've been through some really dark stuff. Can you blame me for wanting to keep those things separate?"

Kurt swallowed, guilt gripping him by the throat. "No, I don't blame you."

"Kurt, I know it's tough. I really do, but you have to understand that you can't expect a kid Dylan's age to understand what you're going through. Hell, I barely understood it when we were teenagers. I mean… you get that, right?"

Kurt released a heavy breath. "Yeah, I know," he admitted.

"I'm sorry I got so angry."

"It's fine, Finn," Kurt waved him off. "You have different priorities now. That's not a bad thing."

"Still. I don't want you to think I don't give a crap."

"Message received," said Kurt with a somewhat forced smile. "Don't worry about it."

The Alibi Lounge was fairly crowded when Kurt and Finn arrived, taking a pair of stools at the bar. The pub really didn't live up to the title of a 'lounge' but the beer was cold and the jukebox actually had a good selection (or at least, that's the way Finn had described it). A young woman who was far too drunk for this early in the evening was crooning a tragically off-key version of _What Is Love?_ on the tiny karaoke stage in the back.

"Yikes," Kurt remarked with a wince as the woman's voice cracked on a particularly high note. Her friends cheered her on from a table nearby. "I almost want Andy to write a scathing review."

Finn chuckled, peeling off his coat and setting it on the empty stool beside him. "Hey, man, can we get a couple of Heinekens?" he said to the bartender.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I thought I didn't drink beer."

"You said you'd give it a shot," Finn countered. "You're a thirty-three-year-old man. Time to drink like one."

"If you say so," Kurt said, unable to completely suppress a grin. "You'd better not get me drunk tonight."

Finn huffed a laugh through his nose. "Yeah, like that was totally the plan. Relax, we're just going to have a couple and head home."

The bartender set a pair of beers in front of them, and Finn immediately took a gulp of his, digging into the bowl of peanuts for a handful to munch on. Kurt hesitantly took a sip, then grimaced.

"Oh my God, that's disgusting."

Finn laughed, reaching for Kurt's beer. "You don't have to finish it."

"Hey, hey!" Kurt protested, holding the bottle away from Finn. "I'm still going to drink it."

"You sure?"

"I'm a thirty-three-year-old man."

Finn snorted, cracking a peanut between his teeth. "Okay, then."

Kurt took another, longer sip.

"Still gross?" asked Finn.

"Oh yeah."

Finn laughed again, clapping Kurt solidly on the shoulder. "I really missed this," he said.

Kurt rested his elbows on the bar, frowning slightly. "What?"

"You know, just hanging out," Finn elaborated with a shrug. A barely-detectable shadow flitted over his face. "No alters, no parents or spouses or kids."

"You're the only one with a kid and a spouse."

"You know what I meant."

"Yeah," Kurt said. He nudged Finn with his elbow. "I missed this too."

Finn smiled, taking another gulp of his beer.

"Do you ever hang out like this with Andy?"

To Kurt's surprise, Finn seemed uncertain. "Um… yeah, sometimes," he replied skeptically. "I don't know; Andy honestly just seems distant all the time."

Kurt frowned. "What do you mean?"

Finn shifted in his seat, as though the very thought of Andy was making him want to leave. "I guess it always feels like he's just doing it to humor me."

Kurt had nothing to say to that, and so said nothing. He drank instead. Back on the karaoke stage, the drunk woman moved from _What Is Love?_ on to _Love Is A Battlefield_. Somehow, the new song was even worse than the first.

"You okay?" Finn asked again after a minute. "You seem pretty down."

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt assured him. "It's been a weird day."

"What happened?"

Kurt let out a huff of breath. "Ran into Andy's boyfriend at Java Joe's."

Finn choked on his beer. "Andy has a _boyfriend_?!"

Kurt nodded.

"Jeez, how'd that go?"

"He tried to kiss me. I ducked."

There was a beat of silence as Finn stared at him, broken only by the drunk woman's abysmal singing. Then, he abruptly burst into unreserved, deep belly laughter, clapping a hand over his mouth.

"Oh, come on!" Kurt complained, although he couldn't quite stop himself from laughing too. "It was really embarrassing, I'll have you know."

"I'm sorry!" Finn managed to get out between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, that's just a _really_ vivid mental picture."

"Well, I'm glad you're amused," Kurt quipped with a grin. Somehow, this was setting him at ease more than anything Burt had said earlier.

Finn drew a deep breath, his laughing fit petered out at last. "So what was he like?"

"Oh, God, he seemed so _nice_. That was the worst part!" Kurt said in exasperation. "I mean, I've never met this guy and I was more concerned about hurting his feelings than anything else. How messed up is that?"

Finn shrugged. "Maybe you really like him."

"Okay, if I really like him without knowing who the hell he is, then that's even _more_ messed up."

"Fair point."

Kurt turned his beer bottle in his hands, letting the glass cool his palms. "Finn, on a more serious note," he started, changing the subject. "I haven't really had a chance to tell you this since I came back, but I want you to know I'm really proud of you."

Finn blinked in surprise.

"You've got an amazing family and a good life," Kurt continued, sensing an all-too-familiar wave of loneliness wash over him as he spoke. "Hannah is clearly a wonderful person, and Dylan is _so_ happy. And you seem happy too."

Finn smiled. "I am," he said honestly.

"You really deserve to be congratulated."

"You know, you did congratulate me," Finn said. "When I got married and when Dylan was born."

"Well, if Andy's even a bit as standoffish as you say, then as far as I'm concerned nobody's congratulated anybody yet," Kurt reasoned. "So I'm doing it now."

Finn reached over and squeezed Kurt's shoulder. "Thanks, man." He snatched a couple more peanuts out of the little bowl by his elbow. "How about this – tonight, we don't talk about any of the crappy stuff going on right now. No DID talk."

A smile tugged at the corners of Kurt's mouth. "Only good things?"

Finn nodded. "Only good things."

"I'll drink to that," Kurt agreed, clinking his beer bottle against Finn's.

The relief was short-lasting, however, as Kurt wracked his brain for something to say and came up woefully short. Between missing ten years of his life and struggling through several years before that, it seemed there was nothing filling his days or even his thoughts besides his illness. There was nothing new to talk about.

Was this all he was? Was his self reduced to nothing but day after day of just struggling to keep things together?

Kurt swallowed a too-large gulp of his beer, feeling it bubble uncomfortably in his gut. He and Finn sat there quietly, watching the basketball game airing on the TV above the bar.

A few minutes later, Finn abruptly put down his beer with a solid _clink_ on the counter. "Come on," he said, stepping off his stool.

Kurt blinked. "What?"

"Come with me."

Kurt realized Finn was headed for the karaoke stage, where the drunk woman had finally stumbled away and back to her friends, and immediately shook his head. "Finn, _no_."

"Yes," Finn insisted.

"No!"

Finn gave him a stern, almost paternal look. "Look, I can tell that you're feeling like absolute crap right now. We both know when you feel like crap, it's a hell of a lot easier for the alters to come out. Singing has _always_ made you feel better, so come _on_."

Kurt stared at him, too stunned to be annoyed. "That's the corniest thing I've ever heard," he said bluntly.

"I don't care," Finn replied with a shrug. "If it means I don't spend the evening with Andy, I'll do it. Now _come on_."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but it was more of a show than true vexation. "Ugh, _fine_," he acquiesced, sliding off his stool and following Finn. "But drinks are on you for the rest of tonight."

"Deal."

As they stepped up onto the tiny stage, the group of tipsy women at a nearby table cheered them on with a warbled, liquor-soaked "_Whoo!_" The wood slats of the stage were splattered with old beer stains, a few peanut shells scattered underfoot. Finn leaned over the little karaoke screen to select a song, then handed the second microphone to Kurt. Guitar strings reverberated from the speakers as Finn turned the volume up and took his place next to Kurt.

Kurt swallowed; as small as this spotlight may have been, it was still making him nervous. Finn clamped a hand down onto Kurt's shoulder in support, and took the first verse.

"_I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told – I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises,_" he sang. "_All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest_."

The verse faded off into a hum, and the drunk women at their table cheered again. Finn gave Kurt an encouraging nod, urging him to take the second verse.

Kurt let out a long exhale, then drew another deep breath into his chest. He could do this.

He lifted the microphone, coming into the song on cue. "_When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy in the company of strangers, in the quiet of the railway station, running scared…_" His voice shook slightly, but he powered through, focusing on Finn's hand firmly gripping his shoulder. "_Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go, looking for the places only they would know._"

"_Li-la-li,_" Finn joined in, harmonizing with Kurt as the guitars grew louder and the drums held the tempo.

Slowly but surely, the knot in the pit of Kurt's stomach gradually unclenched. Relief flooded his chest, spreading through his limbs all the way to the tips of his fingers.

"_Then I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was home, going home,_" Kurt continued, standing up a little straighter. His voice wasn't shaking any more. "_Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me, leading me, going home…_"

Kurt smiled as Finn joined again for the last verse. Somehow, singing together felt incredibly foreign and still remarkably, certainly safe. Kurt raised his voice in tandem with Finn, the song culminating in its finale.

"_In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade, and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down and cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame, 'I am leaving, I am leaving!' But the fighter still remains._"

"_The fighter still remains_," Kurt finished, the music fading behind him. Finn clapped a hand against Kurt's back, grinning from ear to ear.

Finn had been right – already, Kurt felt less unbalanced, less like he could disappear at any moment. He felt solid. More importantly, he felt welcome. This was exactly where he was supposed to be.

They stepped down off the stage and let the drunk woman reclaim the microphone, and hours later Finn and Kurt found themselves still at the bar. Their plan to not get drunk had been tossed out the window, and while Kurt was more than a little buzzed, Finn had progressed to slurring his words and gesturing more than necessary while he talked.

"I mean, this kid was trying to get me to approve an _iguana _as a service animal!" Finn was saying, recounting a story from earlier in the school year.

Kurt snorted at the mental picture, his entire brain swimming. "What was he going to do, drag it around school on a leash?"

"I don't know, man, but whatever, you know?" Finn said, flapping a hand. "I try to be inclusive and maybe he really needs the stupid lizard for, you know, mental support. There's all sorts of weird-ass pets these days, so whatever."

"So what'd you do?"

"Well, I ended up calling his mom to get more info about the lizard. Turns out—" Finn paused his story to take another swig from his latest beer. "Turns out she had no idea he even _had_ an iguana. He was keeping the thing hidden in his room and wanted to bring it to school so she wouldn't find it when he was out."

Kurt burst into laughter, nearly leaning back far enough to fall off his stool.

Finn finished off the last of his drink, squinting at his wristwatch. "Oof, it's late," he said. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I don't know 'bout you but I am super too drunk to drive."

Kurt nodded. "Me too. I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel."

"Okay, hold on." Finn reached into his pocket and fumbled to retrieve his cell phone, clumsily dialing Hannah's number. "Heeeey, babe," he said into the phone. "So you know that plan we had where we weren't going to get drunk? It didn't work."

Kurt giggled at that, reaching for another handful of peanuts.

"Yeah, we could use a rescue," Finn continued. "Okay, see you soon. Love you." Finn ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. "She'll be here soon."

Kurt shrugged his coat on while Finn settled the tab, and together they headed outside to wait for Hannah. The freezing air jarred Kurt's teeth and sent a shiver down his spine, but it was a refreshing change from the fermented air inside. At the sidewalk in front of the bar, Finn sat on the curb and stretched his legs out along the pavement. Kurt sank down to sit next to him, the cold seeping through his jeans. Overhead, the night sky was clear and crisp, glittering with hundreds of stars and a half moon in the east.

"It's pretty," Kurt remarked, gazing upwards.

"Mm," was all Finn said in agreement.

"Thanks for tonight, Finn. It was a lot of fun."

Finn shrugged, still looking at the stars. "Hey, man. You deserve some fun every now and again."

Kurt smiled. He rubbed his upper arms to try and warm them up. "You want to know the first thought I had when I woke up?"

"When, this morning?"

Kurt pushed Finn's shoulder playfully. "No. You know what I mean."

Finn chuckled. "What was it?"

"I thought I had kidnapped Dylan."

Finn stared at Kurt with a bewildered, lopsided smile. "You what?"

Kurt nodded, starting to laugh. "I did. I thought one of the alters had snuck off and kidnapped a kid."

Finn snorted. "Seriously?"

"Surprise! I'm not a kidnapper, I'm an uncle."

At that, they both dissolved into fits of hysterical, almost unhinged laughter. Their voices echoed across the empty icy parking lot, laughing back at them in the still of the night. Eventually, it faded to the occasional chuckle, and the echoes quieted.

"Finn?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah?"

"Am I happy?"

Despite being drunk, Finn looked at him with genuine thoughtfulness. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

"Neither do I," Kurt sighed.

Finn reached over and knocked his knuckles twice on the side of Kurt's skull. "Everything okay in there?"

"Yup, for now. Or maybe the alters are just as drunk as I am."

"That's possible," Finn agreed with a grin.

Across the lot, a pair of headlights turned off the main road and drove towards them, coming to a stop next to Kurt's Subaru. Hannah leaned out the window of the minivan, wearing a parka thrown on over her pajamas.

"Did you guys have too much fun tonight?"

"Yes, we did," Finn said, hauling himself to his feet with no small amount of effort.

Kurt stood as well, swaying on his feet for a second before catching himself and walking unsteadily alongside Finn to the van. Finn clambered into the front seat while Kurt yanked open the sliding door and heaved himself into the back.

"Hey, babe," Finn said, leaning over to give Hannah a kiss.

She quickly maneuvered out of the way. "Ohh, no," she stopped him. "You're getting a shower before any of that."

Finn huffed and fell back against the seat. "Fair enough."

Hannah glanced at Kurt in the rearview mirror. "How're you doing back there, Kurt?"

"I decided I like beer."

"Okay, then."

Kurt yawned again, shivering in his seat as Hannah drove out of the lot. He settled with his arms wrapped tightly around his torso to keep himself warm, and he leaned his head back to watch the sky overhead. It may have just been the alcohol soaking his brain, but it seemed like the stars were glowing brighter than usual. The snow banks alongside the road were illuminated in soft golden light by the streetlamps above. Any stress that may have been lingering in Kurt's head from earlier in the day was quieted, pushed away.

And it had been a long, _long_ day, but somehow Kurt knew he would sleep well tonight.

* * *

**A/N: The song used in this chapter is "The Boxer" by Simon &amp; Garfunkel.**


End file.
